Speak
by Graphospasm
Summary: Miyamoto Momoko, an unassuming mute softball player, is reunited with her estranged paternal family. In that family, through virtue of his mother's second marriage, is one Minamino Shuichi, a young man with more secrets than Momo is ready to handle. KxOC
1. Interrogations

WARNING: The following chapter contains violent images described in somewhat nasty detail. Ewie!

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Speak

Chapter 00:

"The Ending"

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It hurt. I would have been a fool to expect otherwise.

The demon—broad shouldered, blue skinned, forehead sprouting with horns that curled like a ram's—seemed bigger after he chained me to a wall, arms above my head and ankles bound tight together. The floor below me was slippery with moisture: whether it was my spent blood or the water that dripped from the dungeon's ceiling, I couldn't tell. The barren cold made my joints ache. Keeping my feet under me became an impossible battle; every time I slipped I felt white-hot pain stab into my shoulders, wrists, and elbows. Those joints weren't supposed to take the weight of my entire body. It didn't help that I was already exhausted: weak from blood loss, dehydration, and lack of sleep.

And that's saying nothing about my agonized emotions.

I watched through swollen eyes as the devil paced back and forth in front of me. His serpentine tail swept over the stone floor with each massive step, scales scraping the ground like iron nails on a chalkboard. The sound made my pounding head ache all the more. I wanted him to stop moving, to quit confusing my eyes with his rapid movements and glittering skin. The light from the cell's only torch set his crystalline skin ablaze with facets of aquamarine light that dazzled my eyes and made my world spin, but not in a pleasurable way. I let my head loll forward as I vomited onto the ground and down the front of my torn dress, and he shot me a disgusted look. The bile made my lips burn.

"Is the brave little bitch showing a weakness at last?" he sneered, coming close. I cringed back and lost my footing again, sliding this way and that. The devil wound his claw-tipped fingers into the collar of my dress and yanked me upright; we were nose to nose with my feet hanging inches above the ground. I would have sighed in relief—my arms were free of pressure at last—but then his face dipped closer and I froze.

"You're strong, for a human," he said, and then he opened his mouth, leaned forward, and breathed onto my ear. His breath misted like a blizzard across my skin, shooting icy pain across my cartilage piercing. I opened my mouth to scream, air hissing through my throat in agony, but no sound came out even when he reached with one massive hand and snapped my ice-encrusted earring out of my skin. A chunk of my blue flesh came with it, surrounding the stud like an aura.

"You don't scream," he said in a very clinical way as he set me back down. I slumped again, gasping from the pain that was both hot and icy all at once. He began to pick the flesh away from the metal of the earring as if he were uncovering a treasure mired in sandstone. "You don't whimper. You don't moan. You don't even try to reason with me, let alone beg for your life. It's the single most infuriating reaction any victim of mine has ever had." He finished extracting the jewelery from the remnants of my ear and held the stud between two claws.

"Rest assured," he said, orange eyes ablaze with fire that belied his power over cold, "you will talk. You will tell me all you know of Kurama, and then you will beg me to kill you to ease the pain."

He leaned forward and pressed the dull stud into my cheek, raking a furrow from just below my eye to the top of my jaw. It began to bleed like a river of red fire, fluid sliding down my skin, onto my stained clothing, into my scream-widened mouth.

Still, I made no sound.

His hairless brow furrowed. "Why won't you scream?" he hissed, digging a new cut into my face. This one was on my other cheek, a bloody gash in the place where my tears fell. The salt washed into the wound and made it sting.

I looked up at him, shuddering breaths and the bloodletting making the edges of my vision darken, and our eyes met.

"Why won't you speak?" he said, obviously puzzled behind his veil of anger. A light dawned behind his midnight pupils. "Is your love for Kurama that deep?" he asked. "Are you so certain you'll betray him if you speak that you silence even your screams? Is your loyalty to him that great?"

I drew in a deep breath, and then I shook my head.

_I don't love him,_ I tried to tell him with my eyes._ Just as he will never love me, so I will never, _ever_ love him. That lying bastard of a man is everything I will never allow myself to love. And I'm silent not because I want to be, but because I can't _not _be silent._

But my devil didn't understand.

"So be it," he hissed. "I will get you to talk. May your love for him rot."

_But I _can't_ talk, _I wanted to tell him. _It's not that I don't want to, it's that I _can't_!_

His tail snaked out, as limber as another arm, and it wrapped around my throat. Scales rubbed my skin raw. It squeezed and I coughed, helpless in his grip, and when I did not make a sound his eyes hardened, chips of tiger's-eye set deep in his reptilian features. I noticed, vaguely, that he would almost be handsome had his skin not been such an unearthly shade of blue...

_Unearthly, _I thought as the devil's tail crushed the air from my lungs. My body slumped against my chains; my blackened eyes fell shut.

_Unearthly... just like those veridian eyes I thought I loved so much._

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NOTE:

Consider this a prologue, of sorts. The next chapter is the story's true beginning. So is this a prologue? A taste of what's to come? I suppose. It'll be a while before we get here, though. Thanks for reading! We figure out who this girl is soon enough =]


	2. Revelations

Speak

Chapter 01:

"News"

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Mom works 18 hours a day, six days a week, with very little time for leisure or rest. She sleeps most of Sunday away, waking in the evenings to hear about my week and eat the dinner I cook for the both of us. Dad comes over on the third Sunday of every month so he can spend some time with me, too, and despite their divorce my parents get along surprisingly well. Or maybe that isn't so surprising at all: parents should make an effort to get along in front of their children, right? And there's also the fact that Dad has never quite gotten over walking out on Mom midway through her pregnancy with me. I think he feels guilty for not being there for her when the baffled doctors stood over my tiny baby body, wondering why I refused to cry after being whacked over and over again to clear my infant airways. A diagnostic session later they had their answer, of course, but it still came as quite a shock to my surgeon of a mother that her precious baby daughter had been born without vocal chords.

The day before the first day of my final year of high school happened to fall on the third Sunday of the month of August. The weather was hot, almost unbearably so, but I nevertheless fired up the stove and went about making an Italian dish for the evening's festivities. 'Lasagna,' the cookbook called it. I had never made it before, but Mom had enjoyed my attempts at ravioli and fettuccine Alfredo so I figured that anything pasta-based would float her boat. As I layered spaghetti sauce and cheeses and beef over a bed of pasta, making sure to coat every layer with even amounts of each, I heard the door to the kitchen swing open behind me.

"Good morning, Momo," Mom said, yawning as she shuffled to the kitchen table in her house slippers and sweatpants. My mom is a gorgeous person with long, slender limbs and a delicate face, but yawns contort her features into less-than-prettiness.

I turned away from the stove and told her: "It's evening, Mom." I used sign language; the motions were made a little clumsy since I had a ladle tucked into the crook of my elbow.

"Eh, fair enough." She plopped down into a chair and yawned again. Her short brown bob of hair was a mess. I snapped to get her attention, and then I brushed my hand through my own hair with a pointed look at her tangled curls.

"My hair?" she asked, and I nodded. "Oh." She tried combing it into place with her fingers. "Oh, thanks. What are you making tonight?"

I held up the cookbook and pointed at the picture.

"Is it hard?"

I smirked. "Not for me and my culinary genius," I signed.

"Showoff."

"Don't hate me because you can't cook worth a damn, Mom."

Some of our exchange might seem too easy to people not used to dealing with mutes or the deaf, but sign language is just as expressive as normal speech to those who've been using it all their lives. Mom taught me sign language from an early age and sent me to a special school so I could learn to deal with my muteness, and she and I use my nonverbal skills to communicate just as well as speaking people do. Since I can hear, though, she can just get by with understanding sign language, and her speed at using it is a lot slower than my own. Dad's is even worse, but he can at least understand me when I 'speak' to him. But I know that most people don't know a lick of sign language, so when I go out in public and to school I always take a dry-erase board with me along for the ride. I also have a skill for pantomime, developed over years of dealing with people on the fly or when my markers run out of ink.

I went on to put the lasagna in the oven and then start to dice up vegetables for a salad. I also put a rack of french breach into the oven above the lasagna, setting a separate timer for both foods so I wouldn't burn either.

"I had such a busy week," said Mom at the table. I looked at her over my cutting board full of vegetables. She had her head in her hands. "Tons of patients and accidents and a short staff on top of everything. It was a madhouse."

I finished up the salad and put it in the fridge to chill. I rapped my knuckles of the countertop. "I had a busy week, too," I signed to her when she looked up. Mom was the type who liked having her mind taken off of her troubles, so I tried to do just that by changing the subject.

"Yeah?" she said as I started to set the table.

I nodded, placing forks and knives and glasses before three chairs. "I had to go buy another uniform skirt. I grew over the summer. I've had softball practice all this week, too, since our first game is coming up soon, and I also had to finish my summer homework and bake Yuuki a birthday cake."

"How'd that go?"

"It went well. I made shortbread with pink frosting. Her mother liked it; wanted the recipe."

Mom sighed. "I like Yuuki's mother. I wish I could become friends with her."

"We could invite Yuuki's family to our next Sunday dinner," I offered.

"That might be nice!" Mom said, tired eyes brightening, and then she shot me a sheepish grin. "If I can stay awake, that is."

Kusagawa Yuuki had been my best friend since my first year of middle school (which was, coincidentally, also my first year of normal public school). Partially because she had a deaf cousin and knew a little sign language and partially because she was just a generally friendly person, Yuuki befriended me and helped me get used to the brand new world into which I had been thrust. Through her I had made many of my best friends and learned not to be so self conscious of my lack of speech.

"Are you going to be able to make it to my softball game?" I asked as I sat next to her at the table. I checked my watch; all that was left to do was wait for Dad and the food.

Mom's guilty expression tipped me off before she even spoke. "I'm going to try," she said, looking at her hands as she kept them laced together on the tabletop. "But..."

I reached out and laid my hand atop hers. When she looked at me I grinned my biggest, most cheerful grin at her and shrugged.

"There will be tons more," I told her with my hands. "Don't worry about it. I'll kick their butts so fast the game will end in less than an inning, anyway!"

The guilty look was replaced with appreciation. She smoothed my longish black hair out of my face and tucked it behind my ear.

"That's my girl," she said. Her eyes were soft. "Always seeing the best in things."

I grinned back and rolled my eyes, shrugging as I did so. "You flatter me," I signed in a very exaggerated way. "Stop, stop, I'm a shy creature!"

Her laugh lit up the room. "Well," she said, standing, "I'm going to go shower. See you in a little bit!"

"Try to be done by the time Dad gets here," I signed, and she winked before heading out.

As I watched her go, I thought about what she had said about my personality. It was true that I was a habitually cheerful person; I smiled all the time, tried to see the best in people, and did all I could to stay positive. Maybe I'm just trying to cover up the difficulties that come with being a mute by acting overly happy no matter the situation, but I don't think that's all there is too it. It's just the way I am; a cheerful attitude is just my default setting.

After all, wouldn't life be a chore if I didn't try my best to stay happy?

Dad arrived before Mom returned from her bath. I inherited his thick black hair as opposed to Mom's fine brown hair, and most people say we look a helluva lot alike, more so than Mom and I do. I caught a whiff of his sandalwood aftershave as I kissed his cheek after letting him inside, and he hugged me around the shoulders.

"Hey, kiddo," he said. "How's it going?"

I shot him a thumbs-up, grinning as I did it, and then I motioned for him to follow me into the kitchen. Mom was waiting for us at the table, finger-combing her damp hair with a scowl. She smiled at Dad and gave him a brief hug in greeting, and then both Dad and Mom sat down across from each other.

"What smells so great?" Dad asked, taking a deep breath of warm air. He was wearing his work outfit: a tailored suit of dove gray with a crimson tie. He's the owner of an electronics business, and a booming one at that. Between him and Mom we're good on the money front.

I looked at Mom; Mom looked at me. Then she looked at Dad and said: "Lasagna."

Thank God for silent communication, right? Mom and I have it down perfectly. When I can't quickly answer, all it takes is a look for her to get what needs to be done done. My friends are good at the process, too.

As if on cue, the timer on the oven went off. I busied myself with serving the food and pouring glasses of icewater. Then I signed to Mom and Dad: "Would either of you like a glass of wine?"

Mom immediately hopped up to pour glasses. "I think that's just what I need."

"Good idea, Momoko," Dad said, smiling at me. He, unlike Mom, always used my full name in lieu of my nickname, Momo.

We sat down to dinner soon after. The lasagna, for those interested, was a success, as was the complimentary wine. Mom and Dad chatted while we ate, since my hands were busy with my fork and knife (western utensils are easier to use on western food than are chopsticks, after all), but, as was the tradition, they ate slowly so I could finish before them and free my hands for conversation. We talked about our weeks and what was happening in our day to day life; Dad had made a good deal with a distributor the earlier week, and I had hit two triples in softball practice the day before. Mom liked to gossip with us about the nurses in the hospital; many were young women scheming to ensnare the handsome head of pediatrics. Our banter lasted til well after the meal ended and I served cookies I had made earlier in the day, and when we finished our dessert Dad folded his hands on the tabletop and assumed a very serious expression.

"I have news," he said. "It concerns my brother, Kazuyu."

"You're speaking to each other again?" Mom said, raising one thin eyebrow. "That's sudden. It's been what, seventeen years?"

Dad's brown eyes bored into Mom's black ones in melancholy acceptance. "It's a recent development, yes," he said in a pained voice, which was understandable.

You're probably wondering at the tense atmosphere, so let me explain: Dad is the firstborn son of the Hatanaka family, and as the firstborn he was expected to take over the family business. However, he devoted all of his time and effort to bettering the company, so much so that he had little time for cultivating a family. His brother Kazuyu, however, saw that the company's heir had no heir himself, so he set out to find a wife. Once he had one who became pregnant soon after, he convinced his and Dad's father to allow him to become the new heir, considering that he already had a family that could take over in the event of his unforeseen death (or something like that, anyway; I'm pretty sure there was sake involved).

Well, my dad was so enraged by this betrayal that he cut all ties to both the company and his family (especially his brother), and then he went out and married the first woman he could convince to do so, who just happened to be my mother. They had no love between them, however, and this sickened him so much that he filed for an annulment. Mom was pregnant at the time, but she didn't tell Dad until after I was born and given her maiden name: Miyamoto. She wanted me to have no ties to such a family and had no desire to see me roped into such a treacherous environment from birth.

Not that they would have wanted me, anyway. Upon hearing of my birth and my subsequent disability, my paternal grandfather wrote my mother and father and told them to never ask for any sort of help in raising a 'sub par' human, bastard of the Hatanaka family or not.

As you can see, contact between our family and the rest of the Hatanakas is a rare occurrence, at best, and it is most always a painful one.

"What about your brother?" I signed at Dad. I tried not to scowl or anything; I wanted to believe that his brother had good intentions in contacting Dad, even if I had founded misgivings that proclaimed otherwise.

Dad ran his fingers through his hair. "Well, the first thing he told me was that his wife lost their first baby before she carried it to term," he said.

"Quite the way to start a conversation," Mom muttered.

"That's awful," I added. A smaller, darker part of me thought that maybe, just maybe, my uncle deserved it for being such a lying snake, but my more open nature told me that that was a horrible wish I should never, ever think about again.

_We would have been born in the same year had my cousin lived_, I thought. _It's like its life was exchanged for mine, mute little Momo's. No wonder my grandfather was disappointed. _

Dad smirked without humor. "My father was so mad that Kazuyu caused trouble over a nonexistent heir that he appointed a cousin as the company's successor instead of him. The Hatanakas lost the company in name, at least."

"So you went through all of that for nothing," Mom said. I could see the anger in her squared shoulders and firm jaw. "You have the worst family of all time; do you know that?"

"Yeah," Dad said. "But give him some credit. He called to try and make amends. I didn't forgive him, and I probably won't for a while, but I think I'm going to meet with him soon to sort things out. Family is family, after all." He turned to me. "His wife died delivering his first and only son three years later. He's fourteen now. I think the two of you should meet."

The thought of me, a seventeen year old senior in highschool, spending time with a middle-school son of a traitor didn't really appeal to me. But then I remembered that the kid had nothing to do with the fight between Dad and Uncle, so I pushed my negativity away and focused on the positive. It was also a little jarring to think that I had a cousin who, for thirteen years, had been unknown to me. I always assumed that Uncle Kazuyu's child was my age.

"It'll be nice to meet my family," I signed. Mom had no siblings and her parents had died shortly after I was born, so Dad's side was all I had left.

Speaking of Mom: she scowled when she saw my hands forming those words.

"I don't know if I want you associating yourself with people like them. No offense, Mamoru," she said, addressing Dad with that last sentence. "You're different."

He nodded, their eyes meeting and softening at the same time. "Thank you, Kaori."

Moments like that always made me think that the two of them could get back together someday, although I would never tell them as much.

I rapped my knuckles on the table to get their attention. "What else did he say?" I asked.

"Well, Kazuyu got remarried a few months ago," Dad said, "to a widow with a son. I'm not sure of the boy's age, but that means you now have a new aunt and two cousins to meet. Isn't that nice?"

I nodded and smiled, rising from my chair to clear away the dishes. I loaded them into the dishwasher as Dad talked to Mom about the possibility of having me over to his house when Uncle and his family came for dinner.

"If Momo says yes, then you're welcome to come too," he said. "You're Momoko's mother. If anybody deserves to be by her side, it's you."

But Mom shook her head. "Not me. I want nothing to do with Kazuyu. If it weren't for him..."

She didn't have to keep speaking for me to know what she would have said. I'm a good listener. Subtext is as readable to me as Japanese or sign language.

_If it weren't for him,_ Mom wanted to say, _our marriage wouldn't have been rushed, and we might have been a proper family. _

_

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_

NOTES:

_So here's the thing that some of you picked up on: my OC is a mute._

_I am dedicated to making this as authentic as possible. For those of you who follow me on Twitter, you probably saw my posts about "Operation Silence" and the like. The long and short of it is that I went a weekend without saying a word. I ate at restaurants, went to parties, studied at the library, and did everything I normally do with the caveat of not uttering a single syllable. I laughed like a mute (no inflection), sighed like a mute (also with no inflection), and had to pantomime my butt off because I only know a bit of sign language as a result of having two deaf cousins. My friends were all wonderfully understanding. =] It was an incredibly difficult and an incredibly rewarding experience, because I feel like I have such a better understanding as to what it is to live with that disability. I feel richer, you know? _

_And so, everyone, I have this to say: please respect people who live a life markedly different from your own, and do your best to be understanding and helpful whenever possible. They are brave people who I can never hope to live up to, and they deserve more respect than you can ever dream. _

_On another note, a lot of people seemed taken by the gore aspect of the last chapter, and I am sorry to report that this won't be gory right off the bat. There will some emotional pain, however, so maybe that will feel the same until I get where I'm going? You saw a bit of family-fun-angst in this chapter, too, but I promise that Momo doesn't dwell on it too much._

_Also, the detectives come into play during the next chapter (which I have already written!). Stay tuned!_

_Thanks so much for reading, and I hope you picked up on the... um... hints in this chapter. My lovely reviewers deserve many kudos for praising such a fledgling of a story, so here they are in all their glory: White Tempest, StrawberryxXxKisses, kakashisfuturewife, blackangelxvikkix, Ephemeral Muse, AkaMizu-chan, chocolateluvr13, FoxgirlRay, Panda-chan31, Naitza-Kururugi, and VampireOnFire!_


	3. Incidents

Speak

Chapter 02:

"The Karaoke Incident"

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I met Yuuki at the train station the next morning, just like we always had through each and every year of both middle and highschool. She waited for me on the platform with a cellphone in her hand, chatting amiably away to someone on the other end, and when she saw me trot up the stairs and into view her eyes lit up. She waved her school-issued bag over her head. I waved back and went to meet her; I got there just in time to hear her bid the person on the line goodbye.

"Well, we'll see ya when we get there," she was saying. "Thanks for the good news. Yeah, I'll tell her. Bye!" She slipped the vibrant pink cellphone shut and threw her arms around my neck.

"Ohmigod, Momo, I missed you!" she squealed as I straightened my back. Her feet hovered a good six inches off the ground; I'm pretty tall, at least 170 centimeters, and she's no bigger than 155 on a good day. "I just talked to Sugi and Akko. They already got to the school and looked at the room assignments, and we're all in the same class again this year!"

Sugi and Akko were my other closest friends. The four of us went back to middle school, back when I was awkward and shy and Yuuki took pains to open me up.

I put Yuuki down and shot her a thumbs-up with a very excited expression to emphasize my happiness.

"We also got Shouchiro as our homeroom teacher again," she continued.

I clapped my hands, excited, and then the train pulled up. We bundled inside with the other passengers, pressing close to salary men and other students, and Yuuki chatted happily over the roar of the train as it swayed alone the tracks. We were only two stops away from the school, so luckily the jam-packed ride was a short one.

I listened to Yuuki regale me with stories of her summer trip to Spain and all the boys she met there with only half of a mindful ear. Shouchiro-sensei had been my homeroom teacher ever since my first year of highschool, but even my best friend Yuuki didn't know that that was more than just a lucky break. The administration put me in Shouchiro's class each year on purpose. Shouchiro knew about my lack of speech and therefore didn't have to adjust her teaching tactics to have me in her class year after year; any other teacher would have to learn from scratch if I were put into their pool of new students.

We reached our stop a little later, Yuuki still talking, and we walked the rest of the way to school. We passed a few of our classmates on the sidewalk and stopped to talk with a few of them, and I brought out my hand-sized dry erase board and marker in order to speak to a few. I kept both the board and the marker on a key-chain connected to my bag for easy access. I tend to punctuate my sentences with sketched faces and the like, which keeps many people entertained during out somewhat painstaking conversations.

With Sugi and Akko and Yuuki, though, conversations are never too painstaking. When we four saw each other at the school gates we converged like a quadruple lightening bolt.

"Are you even taller?" Sugi, whom I had not seen all summer, asked. She was a tan-skinned girl with hair dyed pale chestnut brown and wide brown eyes, and everything she ever touched had to be in style or _else_. Perfectly curled hair, manicured nails, flawless skin; she was the beauty of the group considering her fashion tastes and killer figure. She was also almost as tall as I was, so I felt the height comment wasn't too justified. In response, I rolled my eyes and jiggled my hand between the top of her head and mine, indicating our similar heights.

"Hey, don't get snippy so soon," Akko said, hands on her hips in mock anger. The pale, black-haired girl was considerably shorter than both Sugi and myself, although she was still taller than Yuuki. "You still gotta put up with us for the rest of the day."

I moved the height-comparing motion to encompass Akko and I, and then I rolled my eyes again._ I can take you, short stuff,_ I wanted to say, and Akko understood completely.

"Oh nuh-uh, I can beat your ass six ways from Sunday!" she giggled, hiding her glossed lips behind one delicate hand. Akko was definitely lady-like as far as her classic Japanese looks went, but she was anything but a lady with her mouth.

"Round one," Yuuki intoned in a voice fashioned after a boxing announcer's. "In this corner, Akko the Acclaimed! And in this corner, it's Momo with the Mojo!"

I raised an eyebrow at her. _'Momo with the Mojo'? _

Yuuki giggled. "Hey, it fits!"

Yuuki is definitely the group's theatrical one. She dresses flamboyantly with a cross between punky and trendy that only she can pull off. Black nails, hair striped with wild colors the teachers could never punish her enough to get rid of, lace and ribbons and chokers and cuffs... she always wore pigtail, like someone who likes the 'lolita' look, and her wide caramel eyes, pale skin, and small body make her look a lot like an imported doll.

I, in contrast, am tall, slender, and fashionable without being obvious about it. I like to look good, but my softball career makes me more concerned with staying in shape than keeping my hair up to date. I wear said hair (black) to about my breasts and like natural-looking makeup. I have little by way of curve and a lot by way of lean muscle, which suits me. Sometimes people call me the group's guardian, of sorts, given my height and build, but then people see that I hardly ever stop smiling and I become the under-the-radar goofball.

My school day will probably bore you to tears (I know it bored me, after all), so I won't tell you about it very much. Basically, I went to my classes, ate lunch with my friends, and just generally survived. You know, highschool stuff. After school we all split up to go to our club meetings, and I headed for the softball field. Running, batting practice, throwing drills, a scrimmage...

Softball is something I am just as good at as any speaking person out there. I love it beyond all reason; it's one of my few hobbies besides cooking that makes me feel like I belong, you know? I can move and feel and do things that talking only seems to hinder. It's a release, a breath of fresh air, and one of my true, unadulterated passions.

I spent two hours working on techniques and my various forms before our coach called an end to practice. Then I showered and met up with Yuuki, Sugi and Akko at the school gates to walk to the train station.

"Well, girls," Sugi said as she checked her hair and makeup in a pocket mirror. "We survived our first day."

"It was long, boring, and difficult," Yuuki said in a solemn voice, "but I think I convinced most of my teachers that I shouldn't have to dye my hair to solid black."

"And I got hit on. A lot," Akko sighed.

I picked up my board and scribbled on it. "I hit a home run!" I told them, drawing a smiley face underneath the words.

Akko offered me a high five. "Wanna hit up a karaoke joint to celebrate?" she asked, smiling at me before she looked to the others for confirmation.

I pantomimed hitting and shaking a tambourine, using my board as a prop. I enjoy karaoke just as much as the next teenager; it's the social aspect that makes it fun.

"But you _always_ call the tambourine!" Sugi groaned at me. "I can't sing worth a damn!"

"Neither can Momo," Yuuki pointed out.

Their banter, by the way, didn't bother me. They meant it out of love. I put my hands on my hips and bobbed my head in a 'hell yeah, girl, you got that right' sort of way.

"Well, I'm down if you guys are," Sugi said, putting her mirror back in her bag. She glanced at my face and frowned. "Actually, I'm down only if Momo lets me put some makeup on her on the train. Did it wash off in the shower after softball practice?"

I nodded, because I probably had. Then I reached into my bag and pulled out my cell phone, offering it to each of my friends in turn with a pleading look on my face.

"I'll do it!" Yuuki chirped, and she dialed my mother's cell with practiced ease. "Voicemail," she whispered, and then she said: "Hi, Miyamoto-san! It's Yuuki-chan! Well, as a way of celebrating our first day back at school, I, Sugi-chan, Akko-chan, and Momo-chan are all going to go to karaoke! Momo's cell is on and ready to go, and you can also reach the rest of us if you need to. Thanks so much! Momo hit a home run today, and she says she loves you and to have a great night. See ya later!" She hung up with a smile and handed me the phone; I signed 'thank you' and returned the look.

"Cheerful," Sugi said, looking at Yuuki out of the corner of her eye as we walked away from the school.

"That's me!" said Yuuki. "Now lets go belt some tunes!"

* * *

Sugi, predictably, was able to flaunt enough cleavage to get away with ordering alcohol despite us being underage, and Yuuki (also predictably) drank so much that she couldn't stand. I kept her alive in the corner, forcefeeding her water and salty chips so she'd get thirsty and drink even more water, but she did not sober up as Sugi and and Akko danced around to music and made general idiots of themselves.

I clapped my hands during a break in the music to get everyone's attention. My board had been pre-prepared to say: "Yuuki can't make it home like this, and it's getting late. What should we do, guys?"

I had reservations, you see, about being able to get Yuuki home because the karaoke place was in the opposite direction as our train stop. I couldn't carry her all the way home; it just wasn't practical.

Sugi glanced at her watch, cheeks pink from the alcohol. "Gosh, it's after eleven! And we have school in the morning!"

"Tell ya what," Akko slurred, "she can stay at my place. The parents are gone until Sunday anyway." She'd hit the alcohol pretty hard, too, though not as hard as the petite Yuuki.

"Yeah, and between the two of us we shouldn't have any trouble getting her there," said Sugi. She and Akko lived only a few blocks apart from one another, and they both lived in the same neighborhood as that karaoke place.

I erased my board and scribbled: "Will you two be OK? You're both pretty drunk." I had stayed mostly sober; alcohol made my head ache.

Sugi waved her hands at me as she and Akko began to put on their shoes. Yuuki, at my side, groaned and giggled as she swatted at my hair with one drunken hand.

"Eh, I'm good, I'm good," said Sugi, and after she grabbed both her and Yuuki's bags she tried hefting Yuuki to her feet. It took both our efforts to get the short girl standing, and she could only walk with Akko and Sugi supporting her on both sides. I escorted all of them out of the karaoke place, smiling at the clerk as we left, and watched as they turned in the directions of their homes. The trains were in the complete opposite direction.

I held my board up again; it still held the same message as last time.

"Relax, Momo," Akko said. "We've got this. You're the one who needs to be careful, going home all alone."

I grinned and pantomimed swinging a baseball bat at an invisible assailant.

"Yeah, you do kick ass," said Yuuki, giggling. She flailed one foot and then groped Sugi's butt (the tall girl yelped). "Get it? Kick, ass!"

I patted her on the head, gave Sugi and Akko intense looks of 'please be careful,' and turned away. I waved over my shoulder as they called goodbye ("stay out of trouble! Akko added) and with a breath of cool night air I started off down the street.

_They'll be fine, _I told myself.

The nightlife in that part of town wasn't lively, considering it was a Monday. However, the lights of the shop signs and the music streaming out of open doorways was pleasant, and I was so busy drinking it all in that I did not see the guy until I ran right into him. Our shoulders collided with a rustle of cloth and the smack of skin on skin, and as I reeled back on the sidewalk I found myself looking into the eyes of a tall young man in a stocking cap. Four others stood behind him, wearing saggy jeans and cut-off shirts and looking generally thug-like. I bowed on reflex, trying to apologize.

"Ouch!" the guy I'd hit said in a voice that was both mocking, pained, and gleeful all at once. "That really hurt! I think I broke my arm!"

"You'll need money for a hospital bill," said one of the others.

A third guy came right up in my face, sneering through narrow eyes. "What's this, a school uniform?"

"Ooh, maybe the schoolgirl knows proper etiquette," said another. "Apologize to the guy you just attacked!"

Not knowing what else to do, I bowed from the waist. I then reached for my board, uncapped my pen, and started to write.

The guys were having none of that.

"What, are you too good to talk to us?" said the leader. He snatched the board away from me; all I had written was 'please, I am unable to.'

_Oh damn,_ I thought with a rush of panic, _this is so not good._

"Stuck up little bitch needs to be taught a lesson," said one of the guys. He reached for me, but by then I realized that I was in _way _over my head and needed to get out of there, and fast. Taking advantage of the leader's assumption that I was a meek little schoolgirl who wouldn't be able to sprint too well, I wheeled around and pelted off down the street as they called after me in shock, back the way I had come and toward Yuuki and the others. _If I can just get to the karaoke place,_ I thought, _I can hide in there, and—_

And my luck didn't like that plan at all. Despite my softball speed and long legs, I wasn't able to get away fast enough because—

"Oof!" said the second person I decided to run into that night. I bounced off of him (the voice was male, that was for sure) and hit the concrete on my butt. It hurt, and air hissed out from between my teeth in a silent scream.

A pound of feet heralded the arrival of the gangsters. "Hey, girlie!" one of them said, but when I turned to look I realized that they weren't addressing me at all. That was when I took my first look at the second guy I collided with that night.

He seemed tall, although that could have been because I was sitting on the ground, and he had a hairstyle of such a stereotypically punky slicked-back fashion that, for a moment, I wondered if _he_ was the thug I should have been afraid of. He seemed to writhe beneath his skin, like his spirit was too big to be contained in the shell of his body. Brown eyes seemed to look everywhere at once, skipping nothing even as he stood blinking at my five pursuers as they pounded toward us over the uneven ground.

"Scram, dude," the lead thug said as he and his cronies skidded to a stop behind me.

"Who, me?" said the guy-who-wasn't-my-thug. His voice held an air of surprise that did not match his narrowed eyes, stooped posture, and the hands shoved tensely into the pockets of his windbreaker.

"Yeah," said the leader. He obviously didn't think much of the new guy, who I noticed now was a few inches shorter than the thugs I'd pissed off so much. "Now beat it before I decide to teach you and the girl _both _a lesson."

The young man looked down at me as if it was the first time we'd met. "Does he mean _you_?"

I scowled. _What, did he not notice me run into him?_ I thought. _Trying to act touch or something? News flash, buddy, we're outnumbered so quit it with the jokes!_

"Yeah, I mean her!" said Leader. He obviously did not like being ignored. "She needs to apologize to me!"

"Little bitch broke his arm!" said a thug.

My young man smirked, wide brown eyes narrowing into crescents that glittered with an intimidating light. "You must be pretty weak to get your arm broken by a girl."

My jaw dropped. _Does he have a death wish?_

"Why you little punk!" said another thug. I couldn't see him since I was facing the new guy, but I could tell that he turned to Leader as he said: "Just forget the girl and go after this guy. He called you weak!"

"I think I like that plan," Leader growled. "You ready, ugly?"

The young man's jaw dropped and mirrored mine. "Ugly!" he repeated, and then his face darkened like a storm. "Oh _hell_ no. Nobody calls me ugly!" He pounded one fist into the palm of his other hand. "Get ready for the beat-down of your life, bitches!"

I was thinking, at this point, that now would be an opportune time to run away when all the thugs were distracted with one another, but as I readied myself to run past the slick-haired young man I heard a new voice say: "Don't move!"

Believing they were talking to me, I froze. But the next young man who appeared in the shadows behind my unknowing savior didn't seem to be talking to me at all. Long red hair (_surely that's a color treatment,_ I thought. _He did a great job on his roots_), brilliant green eyes, pale skin... definitely not Japanese, in my opinion. However, all racial comments aside, the brown-eyes menace paused and turned to look at this newcomer, and when he saw who it was he grinned. They obviously knew one another.

"Kurama," he said, brown eyes glittering, "you're just in time for the show."

But Kurama shook his head. "We don't have time for this, Yusuke."

"Oh, c'mon, lighten up," said Yusuke. "It'll take me five minutes."

The redhead sighed, shoulders slumping, and that's when he saw me on the ground. Green eyes pressed into dark slits. "Is the girl a target of yours, too, Yusuke?" he asked, obviously unhappy with this development.

"No," said Leader. "She's ours."

"I see," said Kurama in a grave voice. He walked past Yusuke and offered me his hand. "Come with me while Yusuke takes care of these gentlemen," he said, face polite and cool.

"Hey, don't touch her!" snapped Leader.

Kurama regarded the thugs with little emotion. "Get past Yusuke," he said, "and you may have the pleasure of fighting me."

"That's a stupid bet, Kurama," Yusuke said, chuckling. "You already know I'm gonna mop the floor with these jerks."

The thugs took offense.

"Five on one and you're this cocky?" said Leader. "Just you wait, pretty boy, I'll be after you and that bitch in no time!" Then he let out a yell I assumed was a battle-cry; Yusuke darted past me and Kurama with a grin to rival the devil's.

That's when I took Kurama's hand. He pulled me to my feet and, guiding me by his grip on my fingers, tugged me at a quick jog down the street and away from the brawl. I could hear Yusuke's voice above the sound of flesh on flesh, whooping with joy that made me think he could only be winning.

When we passed the karaoke place, still at a brisk jog, I dug my heels into the pavement. Kurama still managed to drag me along a good five feet before he stopped, and when he shot a look (a peeved one) over his shoulder at me I pointed at the shop's doors. His eyes widened, narrowed, and he nodded before jerking me into the building after him.

The clerk behind the desk was reading a magazine, and when he looked up to see me in his place of employment for the second time that day, he raised an eyebrow. I waved behind Kurama's back, unsure of what to do now that we were inside, but Kurama took charge immediately.

"Room for an hour, please," the redhead said, pulling a billfold from the pocket of his jacket with the hand not holding onto mine with a cold, vice-like grip.

"Sure," said the clerk, watching as Kurama pulled far too much money out of his wallet and slammed it on the counter.

"Also, we'd like sake and whatever food you have," he went on, and when the clerk handed him the keys to, ironically enough, the same room I had been in with Sugi, Akko, and Mari, Kurama pulled me down the hall without a backward glance.

We went into the room and he slammed the door behind us, letting go of my hand only when he got the door shut and locked. I stood by the small table in the center of the room, unsure of what to do now that I was alone in a tight space with a boy who had both saved me from a beatdown and had kidnapped me all at once.

Luckily, however, Kurama just turned to me and smiled.

"I'm sorry about that," he said, tone sounding sincerely apologetic, "but on the off chance Yusuke does lose, I did not want to be around to become their next target."

I returned his smile with one of my own.

"I got food; you look shaky," he said, and then the page light above the door flicked on. His eyes flickered between the light and my face. "Speaking of which, give me a moment to go get it."

Once he left to go get whatever it was he had ordered, I put my bag down on the couch next to me. The room, for those who want to know, had a TV mounted on one wall and the karaoke box (plus various musical instruments, like my preferred tambourine) set beneath that. The other three walls (excepting the space just inside the door) had couches lining them, and in the center of the room was a low coffee table for snacks and drinks.

_This is going to be awkward, _I thought. _Alone with a guy I don't know whose friend is fighting for me outside... they're great guys, I guess, but ordering food for me? That's a little much, isn't it? _

Kurama came back soon, loaded down with sushi and a bottle of sake and cups. He set all of it on the table before taking the couch opposite me, and I was pleased with the fact that he gave me space. I was also pleased that he served me a plate and handed it to me. Then he poured me a cup of sake.

"Drink that," he said. "You're pale, but it's alright now. Yusuke will take care of them."

I smiled and took the cup, tossing the liquid back with a grimace. It warmed me from head to toe even though I didn't particularly like alcohol. I chased the drink with a bite of salmon sushi, and as I chewed (Kurama, I noticed, ate nothing) my new friend regarded me through cool eyes.

"Now that you've had the chance to calm down a little," he said (_I am calm,_ I thought, _although it was nice of you to give me the time, I suppose_), "would you mind telling me what you did to make those... _men_, mad?"

I reached for my bag on reflex, intending to take my dry erase board off of its customary keychain and use it to explain, but it wasn't there. I froze, confused, before remembering who I had left it with.

_Oh, damn,_ I thought. _This is going to get complicated._

"It's alright if you don't want to tell me," he said, but I could see something besides sympathy—something dark, unyielding, calculating—brewing in the depths of his eyes. The look scared me, and I took a deep breath before taking another piece of sushi and shoving it into my mouth. Thinking while I chewed, I decided that the best course of action would be to brave the wild and rough waters of the one thing everyone could understand:

Pantomime.

I finished chewing and swallowed. Then I held up one finger and put it in front of me, making the universal 'stop and pay attention' sign with both that motion and the hard set of my eyes and lips. When Kurama looked perplexed, I pointed at myself. It took him a moment to get what I was doing, but when I jerked my thumb at myself a few more times he finally, in a very confused voice, said: "You?"

I nodded and pointed at my mouth.

"Mouth?" His look turned murderous. "Did they hit you?"

I grimaced because that wasn't quite what I meant, and so I pointed at my throat instead. As I did that I shook my head from side to side, and then I rolled my eyes and held up my hands in a gesture that said: "Hey, what can ya do, ya know?"

Recognition made his eyes light up. "You can't talk!" he said.

I dropped the pantomiming and nodded, grinning all the while.

"A mute?" he said.

Another nod.

"Deaf, too?"

A head shake and a point at my ear, followed by a thumbs up sign.

"Oh. Well, that explains a lot. Most people scream when they're... attacked."

I exhaled quickly through my nose. The noise sounds an awful lot like a muffled laugh or a derisive snort to those who don't know any better. It's my version of a giggle since I don't have any alternatives besides happy hyperventilation or silent shaking, and neither of those things are very flattering.

He seemed to understand my 'laugh' regardless, however, and he chuckled, too. "Speaking of which, what _did _you do to make them so mad?"

I can sigh like a normal person, but there's no inflection to it since my vocal chords don't work. The sound is basically a burst of air rushing past my teeth, but the general effect is the same. I reached with my right hand and shoved myself in the left shoulder, and then I mimed grabbing my arm in exaggerated pain.

"... you punched him?"

I put my hand over my face and laughed for a moment, and then I stood up. I motioned for Kurama to come closer to me, and when he did (with a look of wariness I couldn't see the reason for) I walked past him and bumped his shoulder gently with my own. I spun on my heel and pointed at him before pounding one fist into my other palm.

"I see," he said, face contorted into a mockery of seriousness that may or may not have been a cover for irreverent laughter. He was taller than me, I noticed, but only by a few inches. "Typical punk behavior, I suppose?"

I nodded and shrugged, sitting so I could load more of the sushi onto my plate. I gestured for him to do the same. He did.

"So... what's you're name?" he asked, putting a strip of tuna on his plate.

I stared at him, mouth full. _He doesn't understand signs,_ I thought, _so how can I..._

His eyes flickered toward my school bookbag lying on the couch. "A pen and paper might not go amiss," he said, and I felt a blush creep into my cheeks.

_Why the hell didn't I think of that?_ I wondered as I opened my bag and took out a notebook and pen. I shook my head to side from side, laughing a little at my own stupidity, and wrote my answer. "I'm Momoko," I scribbled, "but people call me Momo."

He scanned the board and smiled. "It's very nice to meet you, Momo," he said.

I very quickly made a chibi drawing of my new friend (notes on my chibis: the only reason they look like their models is because I ultra-exaggerate their hairstyles and clothing; I am in no way, shape, or form an artist). Above the small figure I drew a speech bubble. "Hi, my name is," I wrote in it, leaving space for him to fill in the blank. When I handed both the board and the pen to him, his eyes popped open in surprise. Then he laughed.

"I'm Kurama," he said, and for my benefit he filled in the bubble with hiragana despite his verbal acquiescence.

"I heard your friend say that, now that I think about it," I wrote. "I'm really stupid tonight. Sorry!"

He stared at the paper before laughing. "Not stupid," he said in a reassuring voice, "only shaken. You have no need to worry on my account."

I smiled, grateful for his understanding, and just then the page light above the door went on for the second time. Kurama frowned and stood up. "Wait here," he said, and he opened the door. I heard his friend—Yusuke, was it?—say something in the hallway before the door fell shut behind Kurama, and I immediately hopped up, wanting to thank the guy who fought for me for... well, fighting for me. But when I laid my hand on the doorknob and started to push it open, the things they were talking about gave me pause.

"...sign of him?" Kurama was asking.

Yusuke's voice answered: "He's nearby, but I can't pinpoint his location. I can feel 'im watching."

The redhead let out a heavy sigh, one that spoke of immense weariness. "So I suppose he's noticed Momo, then."

"Who?"

"The girl."

"Oh. Well, I'd sure think so. If she's been cooped up with you in a tiny room for this long then she probably _feels_ like you by now, you know?"

A low chuckle. "I know."

"So what do we do?"

_What the hell are they talking about?_ I thought. _I would 'feel' like Kurama? But that's absurd!_

"She's become a liability," Kurama said. My heart fluttered in sudden fear because those words coming out of Kurama's mouth made it seem like I had witnessed a Yakuza killing or something and that I needed to be bumped off, and I had spent more than enough time with a gang today, thanks so much. However, I calmed down when he went on to say something that was far less troubling: "I'll make sure she gets home safe."

"Good idea. I'll meet up with the others in the meantime." He chuckled. "She _looks_ like a trouble magnet, no question."

"You have no idea." His voice dropped. "She can't speak, Yusuke."

Yusuke paused, probably too confused to formulate a reply.

"She's a mute."

Yusuke let out a low breath. "So that's what that gang meant when they said she was too good to talk to them," he muttered. "Yeah, definitely a trouble magnet." He swore so colorfully it put my fast-talking friends to shame. "This is the worst neighborhood she could possibly be in tonight, and we don't need any more distractions on this case! Let's get her out of here ASAP."

"I agree. But please meet her first. She probably wants to thank you, and I ordered sushi and there's no sense wasting it—"

"Food? Sweet, I'm starved!" He paused again. "Maybe just one more distraction, in that case."

I heard one of them move, a bare rustle of cloth and a single footstep, but that was all the warning I needed to sit back down and pretend I didn't hear a single one of their confusing words. I stared down at my lap until the door opened, and when it did I looked up, smiled, and waved in a way that said "Oh my god, fancy seeing _you_ here!"

"Yusuke," said Kurama, gesturing at me, "this is Momo-san. Momo-san, this is my friend Yusuke."

"Nice to meet you!" Yusuke said, eying the food on the table.

Kurama sighed. "Go ahead, Yusuke."

His eyes lit up like kerosene lanterns. "Don't mind if I do!"

"Thanks for saving me back there," I scribbled on my notepad, and I had to rap my knuckles on the table to draw his attention away from the sushi.

"Hey, no problem," Yusuke said. "Oh, and I'm gonna be straight with you: Kurama told me you can't talk."

The aforementioned Kurama looked mortified.

"So, yeah, I know already and now we can skip awkward explanations," Yusuke went on. When he saw that Kurama was glaring at him he said: "What? I already knew and I saved time by telling her I did!"

I knocked on the table; they looked at me, expectant. I grinned at them both and shot a thumbs up, and then I scribbled: "I prefer not to make a fuss over it."

"See!" said Yusuke, shoving food in his mouth. "No fuss!"

But Kurama appeared to be having a difficult time accepting that. His shoulders were tense, bones standing out against the skin of his neck as he mopped a hand over his face, gave me a tired smile, and said: "I suppose you're right."

I just smirked and shrugged. No big deal.

Kurama took a moment to glance at his watch. "Well, Momo-san, the last train will be leaving in half an hour. In the interest of not letting you get mixed up in another brawl—" (his eyes twinkled when he said that) "—would you allow me the courtesy of walking you to the station?"

I nodded and grabbed my bag, watching as Yusuke tried to stuff the last of the food into his face (he was turning out to be a pretty laid back and funny guy now that the threat of a gang fight was subtracted from the social equation). I stood awkwardly next to him until he looked up at me, and when he did I bowed. My hair swung forward, covering my face on all sides with its long black curtain, so I didn't see his face when he replied: "Hey, quit it! I probably would have beaten them up anyway!"

I straightened and laughed; so did Kurama before he gently touched my shoulder and turned me away from Yusuke.

"Let's go," he said. "We have to hurry." He added: "See you later, Yusuke."

"Sure," Yusuke said around a huge bite of tuna. He waved a hand at us in dismissal. "See ya, Kurama."

And then we were gone, leaving Yusuke—alone but for some sake and sushi—sitting snug in the karaoke booth.

* * *

_NOTES:_

_Well, this is a bit of a cliché meeting considering the whole girl-gets-rescued scenario, but I'm hoping that since Momo's true savior was someone other than her (planned but not set in stone) love interest... ah, well. Kurama and Momo see each other again quite soon, and not in a way that either of them expect. It's also incredibly awkward. YES!_

_The response on such a young fic has been staggering! Thanks so much, from the bottom of my heart, for your support: Naitza-Kururugi, StrawberryxXxKisses, mosinger, heve-chan, Foxgirl Ray, WickedLovelyDream, chocolateluvr13, Aicirret, strawberry9506, Wild-Cheesecake, Zetsubel, Jade Elf, Koryu Elric, and Panda-chan31!_


	4. Secrets

Speak

Chapter 3:

"Secrets & Meetings"

* * *

As I watched her go, noting with displeasure the way both mine and Yusuke's energy signatures clung to her skin like a cloud of perfume, I tried not to let my caring smile slip into an expression of darkening humor. It was lucky Yusuke had saved her, of course—someone of her particular distinguishment couldn't have gotten out of that situation in one piece—but when I thought of the consequences of taking time to escort a civilian to safety... well, I wasn't sure if the benefits outweighed the risks.

We had walked to the train station in silence, mine by choice and hers by an act of nature. I told her goodbye on the train platform (she responded with more than a few bows and apologetic looks) and hurried her onto the last train of the night, and I watched her reach up to grasp a handrail through the car's misty windows. She chose not to sit, oddly enough, despite the fact that the car was empty. Our eyes met through the window; we smiled, I waved, and then she tugged a pen and her notebook out of her bag and started to scribble something.

I studied her as she wrote. A lean body, tall, long legs, narrow hips; definitely the athletic type despite her trendily short uniform skirt and carefully done makeup. An oval face with dark almond eyes, full lips, high cheekbones, black hair so thick it was a wonder it didn't weigh her head down... Momoko was pretty in a sultry way, but only after you took the time to study her thoroughly—at first glance, her dark coloring and caramel skin made her fade into the background. Still, even after ample studying she wasn't some great beauty; just a pleasing teenage face with clear skin and straight teeth. But I didn't mind too much and I had a feeling that she didn't, either. She didn't seem like the vain type.

She looked up from her notebook and flipped her hair out of her face; bangles on her wrist jingled, and then she smacked the notebook up against the window as the train doors began to shut. A long, slender finger pointed at the words as if to say 'Hey, pay attention!', and with a quirk of her lips I realized that she was—in a bold yet surprisingly subtle way—both flirting with me and being polite all at once. I could interpret her intentions either way, a fact I immediately realized she was counting on. But then the train pulled away from the platform and she shot me thumbs-up sign, grinning like she only meant the polite side of her actions.

"Thank you, Kurama!" she had written. "Make it up to you?"

And beneath that she had penned her email address.

* * *

Yusuke scowled at me when I walked up behind him a few blocks over from the karaoke place; I had traced his glowing energy from the train station in order to find him. "What took you so long, Kurama?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, and I shrugged.

"Did you get her number?" Yusuke asked when I said nothing.

I tried not to smirk. "Not exactly."

"You should have. She had nice legs." He scratched the back of his neck, craning his head so he could study the cloudy sky above. City lights drowned out the stars. "Too bad about her voice, but whatever. The demon's gone, for the record."

Frowning, I asked: "Could you track it?"

"Nah. Hiei followed it for a bit, but then it started masking its energy. Slippery damn thing."

We had been tracking a demon wanted by the Spirit World for almost a month, but the mission had been proving much more complicated than we ever predicted. Despite only being a rather weak demon whose energy levels barely made the upper C-class cut, the thing could mask itself almost flawlessly and blend in with humans with only the smallest of mistakes to give it away. In fact, it had been doing just that for almost twenty years: it had escaped from Spirit World jail custody two decades prior and had been living as a human ever since. A demonic energy spike accompanying an inexplicable earthquake in a small Spanish village had prompted Koenma to investigate the incident, which resulted in the demon's rediscovery and, thus, the beginning of our mission.

I hadn't been too happy about getting roped into what should have been a closed chapter of my life, of course, but the Spirit World was insistent and, frankly, I was bored.

Boredom and I are old enemies. It's responsible for my old... occupation.

"Hiei contacted me a few minutes before you got here," Yusuke said, tapping his temple to indicate telepathy. "He said that the demon tried sneaking up on Kuwabara, but luckily he was able to draw his spirit sword in time to defend himself. Then the demon ran off. Hiei can't find it."

I sighed. "Then I suppose we'll have to track it tomorrow night, too."

"Only if it slips up again," said Yusuke. We had not seen the demon in a long time, but for some reason it had released a little energy in the area earlier that night, alerting us to its presence.

"Now it knows we're onto it," I muttered.

"Makes out job harder," Yusuke agreed. "But there's no point in keeping this up tonight, or even tomorrow unless it makes another mistake. Go home and get some rest." He started to walk away. "I'll call you if we catch wind of it again."

"Tell Keiko-san hello," I called after him.

Yusuke did a weird jerk-turn, flinching in a way I would have had I been suckerpunched, and he smirked at me over his shoulder. "Uh, yeah, I'll do that."

I watched him jog around a corner and out of sight, wondering at his reaction. Then I turned to go my own way home.

* * *

Two days later my mother met me at the door of her two-story suburban home with her hands on her hips, but I could see no anger in her warm eyes when she said: "Shuichi, you're late!"

I shrugged off my jacket; she took it from me and put it in the closet just inside the front door. "I'm sorry for not calling, mother, but I had to finish up a lab report at school. Time just slipped away from me."

"You're usually so on top of things," she fretted, kissing my cheek.

I stepped further into the house, noting the perfect furniture and tasteful decorations. It was exactly how I'd left it—a house that mixed Japanese and western styles with flawless ease. Shuuichi's soccer cleats lying amid a small pile of dried mud-flakes in the shoe area were the only object out of place, but even they seemed like they had been placed their with utmost care. Someone—probably mother, knowing her—had stenciled his name onto one of the shoes: 'Hatanaka Shuuichi,' followed by a phone number.

I mused over our names for the umpteenth time. The only differences between them lay in their slightly different pronunciations and the fact that I had been named after nothing but my mother's whim. My stepbrother, on the other hand, spelled his as an homage to his paternal grandfather, one Hatanaka Ryuuji. We avoided name confusion by a clever (or obvious, I suppose) use of honorifics: I was forever Shuichi-san, whereas little Shuuichi was, predictably, Shuuichi-kun. I had never been called 'kun,' not even as a child, so the distinction was an easy one.

"Your stepfather should be home," she said as we walked together toward the kitchen. "Shuuichi-kun is at a club meeting and will make it just in time for dinner. Can you help me get ready?"

"Of course," I said. I saw, as we walked into it, that the kitchen table had been set, and that mother had laid out all the ingredients for the evening meal. At her direction I diced vegetables for a salad, and she basted chicken.

"I thought we'd eat western style tonight," she said. "Lemon-basil chicken is supposed to taste nice."

"I've had it before," I said. "I like it."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good. I wouldn't want to drag you back home and make something you hate to eat, too."

"You don't drag me, mother," I said gently, but I could see in her eyes that she didn't quite believe me. She bent over the chicken with her hair pulled back in a low ponytail; _I look a lot like her as far as our faces go,_ I thought when I looked at her wide eyes, thick hair, and pointed chin. _It's just my coloring that's so different._

Not for the first time, I found myself thinking of my human birth father. Mother never spoke of him. I don't even know if they were married when my human shell was conceived. Was he responsible for my red hair and green eyes, or had my demon's soul been the catalyst for that mutation?

"I can never tell what you're thinking about, Shuichi-san," she murmured. "Even when you were a child, I could never tell. And now, as an adult..."

The sadness in her voice made me wince. "Mother..."

She smiled, but not with happiness. "You're an old soul, Shuichi-san, and before you were born I would never have used that term. But now I know that there are people who just... who just have more to them." She turned from me, hiding her face behind her hair. "I'm sorry I could never..."

She did not finish speaking. I said nothing, because I didn't know what to say.

A sigh let me know that the conversation wasn't over. "I could never call you 'kun', even as a child, because you were never enough of a child for that. It felt wrong, somehow. Forgive me."

The plea for forgiveness surprised me. "What in the world should I forgive you for?" I said, troubled. "You're my mother. You raised me, and I love you."

At last she looked at me, and to my horror I could see her eyes brimming with tears.

"I'm sorry I raised you alone," she said, voice quiet. "Maybe, if I'd had someone to share you with, you would have had a... normal childhood. You had too much responsibility for someone so young."

She put down her pairing knife and crossed her arms, fingers playing over the soft skin exposed by her rolled-up sleeves. Raised bumps—scar tissue that could never heal and always remind me of my sins—decorated her like a child's fingerpaints, and with a pang I remembered how she got those long, jagged scars. I put down my own knife.

"Mother," I said, reaching out to take her hand. I turned it over so the scars on the underside of her arms and wrist were exposed, and with my other hand I traced the lines and whorls. "Mother, you raised me, and you did it well. The day you saved me from falling and got these scars, you taught me to risk yourself for the ones you love, to cherish your relationships and friends, to protect your family because they are an extension of yourself. Because of you I know compassion, and love."

Another sad smile. "You act like you weren't supposed to know how to love, Shuichi-san. It's like you've seen things you shouldn't have."

I didn't reply, only pulled her into my arms for a hug, not wanting my poker face to betray how close to the truth she was, because she was right. I have never really been a child.

_Mothers_, I thought as I smoothed her hair. _They pick up on everything, don't they? I was a fool to think I could ever deceive her._

I felt the sob before I heard the sound rip from her. I held her more tightly, feeling her warmth and love wash over me, and my eyes squeezed shut, blinking back tears of their own.

_I was a fool to think I could leave her,_ I thought, _and I truly am a monster for breaking her._

* * *

It was with love that my broken mother spooned another helping of potatoes onto Shuichi-kun's plate; I could see the emotion radiating from her every pore. She was holding Kazuyu-san's hand under the table, where neither of her sons—biological and adopted alike—could see it, but I knew from the light blush and the twinkle of her eye that she was happy, more happy than I'd ever seen her.

_I'm glad she got married,_ I thought, watching her chat with her new husband and son. _Shuichi-kun is giving her everything I never could. This could heal her._

That didn't keep the more human side of me from feeling jealous of my mother's freely given love.

Mother was serving dessert when my stepfather—who had been unusually quiet during our meal—spoke up.

"Do you think," he asked mother, slipping an arm around her waist as she put a slice of cake before him, "that I could invite a few people over for dinner next Sunday?"

"That's fine with me dear," she said, kissing his brown hair, and she took her seat again. "How many people should I cook for?"

He hesitated, glasses glimmering in the kitchen's soft light. He wore his usual work suit, but he'd taken off the tie and unbuttoned the collar, and seeing him with my mother reminded me of just how pretty she was. Kazuyu-san was also handsome, and they made a handsome couple.

"Two for sure," he said, "but maybe three."

"Well, if you agree to eat an extra helping if it does turn out to be just two..."

He smiled. "Of course."

"Who's coming over?" Shuuichi-kun asked, mouth full of food. His dark hair and eyes, set in tan skin, would even out as he grew; even now I could tell he would be a good looking young man.

Kazuyu hesitated again. Mother put her hand on his.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"It's nothing, Shiori," he said. "It's just... my brother."

I put down my fork. "Brother?" I asked.

"You never told me I had an uncle!" Shuuichi-kun gasped, wiping a crumb off of his chin.

Mother looked hurt. She put her hand back in her lap. "Yes, you never told me that, either."

"I didn't mean to keep it a secret," my stepfather said, running a hand through his hair.

"Then why did you?" I think I sounded more menacing than I meant to sound, because mother shot me a sharp look and Kazuyu-san winced.

"It wasn't my choice," he said. "It was my father's."

We all fell silent. Ryuuji-san, my step-grandfather, was a shadow looming over all of us. He had almost not allowed Kazuyu-san to marry my mother, threatening to cut him off if he didn't marry a woman with connections, but in the end he had relented. I had never met the man, of course (he didn't even come to the wedding) but I knew him by reputation enough to realize that crossing him was not a good idea.

"My brother has been ousted from our family for almost twenty years," he went on. "I reconnected with him. Father doesn't know, and I don't want him to, either. He wouldn't like it. But I want my brother and his family to meet you all."

Mom touched his hand again, smiling. "That would be nice, dear."

He smiled with obvious relief. "I knew you'd understand." Then his face darkened. "I can't help feeling indebted to Mamoru. I put him through so much."

"What do you mean?" Shuuichi-kun piped up. Kazuyu-san seemed to realize he was there for the first time, and he shook his head.

"It's nothing," he said, but I could tell that he wasn't telling us everything, even as he said: "Now let's finish this cake!"

* * *

I cornered him after dinner. Shuuichi went upstairs to take a bath before bed while the rest of us washed dishes, so when my mother had to go find a new sponge because hers disappeared when she put it down for just a second (and yes, the disappearance was my doing), I said: "You owe Mamoru-san?"

He started, glasses slipping down his nose.

"Would you like to fill me in?" I asked silkily.

Kazuyu-san seemed reluctant, but I had long ago learned that he was unnerved by me, and a long stare got him talking.

"He was my family's heir," he admitted. "I wanted that for myself. I married Shuuichi-kun's mother, got her pregnant, and convinced my father that I was more suited to take over."

I thought about that. "You're not the heir now," I said. "If your plan didn't work, then why is Mamoru-san still estranged?"

He chuckled. "You're too sharp for your own good. Tokyo University found a good recruit in you, Shuichi-san."

The joke didn't amuse me. "I try," I said, and I waited.

"It did work," he said at last, "but only because..."

"Because?"

His eyes flashed. "Don't tell your mother. This had nothing to do with her."

"And you don't want her to think you're anything but a good man," I said, and his cheeks turned red with embarrassment and rage."

"It's because I don't want her involved," he hissed. "If my father finds out, he'll—"

"I won't tell," I snapped back. "I value my mother's peace of mind."

My eyes, boring right into his own, said, _Unlike you, you lying snake._

It took him a long time to recover enough to finish his story. "I falsified a document that showed Mamoru making a small accounting mistake," he said. "I thought it was small enough to not get Mamoru fired from the family business, but Father is a stickler for perfection and wanted to disown him. But before he could tell Mamoru that he was being let go, Mamoru found out about Father's new choice of heir. He left, swearing never to speak to us again. He didn't know about the document." He looked tired. "The same day, my wife miscarried. Father had lost a son and a grandson at once. He demoted me, made a cousin the heir."

"Treachery is rarely rewarded," I said, and Kazuyu looked murderous. He threw the plate he had been cleaning into the soapy sink, fully intending to beat me into submission with his words, but at that moment Mother walked in.

"Found a sponge!" she chirped. "It was all the way in the garage, and—what are you two doing?"

"Nothing, Mother," I said pleasantly. Kazuyu lowered his hands, sheepish but angry beneath the wool. "Let's finish the dishes."

"Of course!" she said, and she joined us.

* * *

I went back to my apartment in the city later that night, thinking about Kazuyu's deceit and lies. First he lied to his father, then he betrayed his brother, and then he kept the identity of his brother from not only his wife, but his son.

"Just what kind of family did you marry into, Mother?" I whispered, my car's tires rolling gently over asphalt and concrete as I pulled into my building's parking garage. I got out of the car—a present from Kazuyu's wealthy family, one which had served me well but now looked uglier in context—and went up to my place. I didn't turn on any lights. The dark had never bothered my eyes.

My apartment is close to the university and students get a discount on rent, so I'm happy with it despite the small size. Neat and tidy, just how I liked it, the one bedroom, one bathroom, and kitchen all serve as my private sanctuary, the place I go when I want to be alone, which is more often than not. Living at home with Mother and her new life feels suffocating; I want her to have the experience of a warm family without me hovering in the background like a ghost. Still, sometimes I felt like the forgotten son, the misfit, the outsider. But when I weighed the consequences of making her cry and feel guilty over my own desires, I realize that it's better to just stay away.

Mother, more than anything, taught me the art of sacrifice.

I took off my coat but kept on my shoes when I went inside. I had never liked the Japanese "shoes off" rule, much preferring to be ready to leave at a moment's notice, so in my own space I did what I wanted. I poured myself a glass of water in the kitchen, holding the cold glass to my forehead for a second to wake myself up, and then I carried it to my computer desk in the living room.

The desk sat before the wide window, but at that moment only lights from other buildings cast shadows on my hands. I opened the laptop and turned it on, watching the familiar loading screens with eyes that didn't really see them. I hadn't checked my email in two days, so I didn't really know what to expect when I opened the browser and logged on, but I did not like the way I had trouble swallowing when I saw the only new thread in my inbox.

"Hey!" the tagline read, and the sender was none other than 'peachgirl16'.

_Momo_, I thought, just as I had when I sent her an email the night I got home from saving her. _Peach_. _Predictable_.

A smaller part of me, however, kind of thought the address was cute. I made sure not to listen to it.

My email address, on the other hand, was not so noteworthy. I had made a brand new one from a free provider on the web, choosing the simple name of "kurama" with no numbers or frills to set it off. I couldn't use my regular school email address with Momo, of course, because it contained the name 'Shuichi' in it and I didn't want her asking any unnecessary questions.

I scanned the simple message I had first sent to her ("Hello, it said. This is Kurama, whom you met this evening. Did you make it home?") with a frown. Why was it so formal? Did I always talk like that?

Momo seemed to think the same thing.

_Hey there!_ she had written. _Great to hear from you, even if you do sound like you're writing a letter to the editor or something, ha ha."_

_Anyway, just wanted to thank you again for what you did for me. I don't know what would have happened if you and Yusuke hadn't come along cuz, you know, screaming like a damsel in distress isn't exactly within my skill set. _;; Biting and kicking, yes, screaming, no. Also, walking to the train with me when you really didn't have to—YOU'RE A LIFESAVER, and that's not a metaphor all things considered."_

_Anyway, my mother freaked out a little when I told her what happened, but she said that you're probably an angel or something and that I should thank you at least a thousand times for rescuing me. Unfortunately, I doubt my fingers could type that many 'thank you's without falling off. Mom says that you're her new favorite person and that we owe you big time, so please be content with that knowledge, but don't ask us to hide a body for you or anything similarly illegal. I mean, I can teach you sign language if you want, and Mom's a doctor so she can always give you a free checkup, and all of these offerings seem weird but Mom's a very "gotta pay back those I owe!" kind of person, so please humor her, ha ha._

_Well, in the interest of not taking up even more of your time, I'll cut this off right here. I know I talk too much sometimes (lol!)._

_See you later!_

_Miyamoto Momoko_

I had to read it twice before it really sank in, and when I typed my reply I tried not to sound as rigid as I did in my first email. Momo certainly didn't think we needed to mind our 'p's and 'q's.

_Dear Momo,_ I wrote.

_Thank you for the response, and I'm glad you made it home safely. Tell your mother that it was nothing and that I need no payment. The night was not as riveting as I had first hoped, and you helped me kill time I would have otherwise spent doing very little._

I don't know what prompted me to write the next sentence.

_So your mother is a doctor? I am currently in Tokyo U.'s pre-med program, studying to become a surgeon. Where did she go to school?_

I hesitated. Was it proper for me to ask that so soon into the email? I had never been very good at teenage interaction, so when I couldn't come to a decision I just let the lines stay put and decided end the message there. I didn't know what else to say.

_I will tell Yusuke you made it home, and that you said 'thank you.' Try to stay out of trouble. We might not be around next time, you know._

My attempt at a joke seemed forced, but I didn't want to stoop to writing the word 'lol' after it, so I didn't. Then I agonized over the signature. 'Sincerely' was too formal, 'love' too familiar, 'bye' too final... in the end I just wrote 'Kurama', and I was about to press send when my fingers did some typing all on their own.

_You know,_ I wrote,_ you're a lot more talkative than I was expecting_.

And after that, there really wasn't anything left to say.

* * *

Momo responded later that night. I almost didn't see the message, but luckily I had to open the laptop to look up a term for a paper I was writing and the box was still open. Momo, unlike me, didn't bother with a salutation.

_We do to have to pay you back!_ she had said, and next to it was a small text-drawn face that looked comically angry. _You did so much for me! You even bought me food and sake, which was totally awesome but also completely too nice for words._

_Tell you what,_ she went on. _Since you bought me food, why don't you let me do the same? Name a time and a place and I'll pick up the tab. Seriously! It's either that or a check, and trust me, I'll go back to that karaoke bar and wring out the cashier so hard he'll spit up your receipt in spades._

_Your choice =P_

_Momo_

I stared at the words with a quirked mouth.

"Is she threatening me?" I murmured, and I wrote her back, short and sweet.

_Despite my misgivings about payment (which is unnecessary, I'll remind you), I think I'll choose to save the cashier's neck. When and where?_

I deleted the words a second later, shaking my head. _You can't get involved with her,_ I told myself. _She'll only get hurt._

Then I remembered how she'd given me her email in the first place, and how she seemed both flirtatious and merely friendly all at once. She wasn't looking for a boyfriend, not necessarily, so what could it hurt, right?

"A friend," I mused. "One friendly outing can't be a bad thing, can it?"

A voice in the back of my head whispered a name, but I shushed it with a protest of my own.

"She's won't turn out like Maya," I said, jaw firm. "I'll make sure of that."

So I retyped the words and sent them.

* * *

_NOTES:_

_Kurama point of view? What? WHAT?_

_I want to show Kurama's depth of feeling for his mother. The more demon-y part of him is clinically detached (EX: when he thought about his genetics and coloring), whereas the human part of him is devoted to his mother and her happiness. He's protective of her and wary of his new family members, ready to do anything to keep her safe. But there's still that guilt there that keeps him from really connecting with her. It's fascinating._

_In the anime (or maybe the manga?) Kurama says that he broke his mother's spirit. I think he did that by never really acting like a child or needing her the way a human baby should. I'm trying to express that as best I can._

_This took forever to write because I couldn't get his voice down. I must have written the chapter four times!_

_A bit on the story's timeline. This takes place (tentatively, of course, because I'm having trouble reconciling the anime vs. manga canon at this moment) right after the end of the series. Yusuke is back, working out of a ramen stand and occasionally helping Koenma out, and he's (just to get a number out there) about 18 years old. Kurama, being a year older (I think that's canon but please tell me if you know otherwise; YYH is bad about defining ages and timeskips), is 19 or 20-ish. Hiei just kinda does his own thing, Kuwabara is in college as a physics major (good job buddy!), and Kurama is attending medical school... for now._

_So, Momo is younger than Kurama by a bit—they've got a grade between them._

_THANK YOU SO MUCH, REVIEWERS! Seriously, the response to this baby of a story has been staggering, and it's humbling. Love you guys! Dumbrat, Naitza-Kururugi, chocolateluvr13, AkaMizu-chan, Aisop, heve-chan, Foxgirl Ray, Dyani91, Panda-chan31, rain chant, Kaiya's Watergarden, Out-Of-Control-Authoress, Reclun, oceanabyss, Talye Kendrin, SillyGoddessDisco, rubyparker93, xenocanaan, crossyourteez, and strawberry9506!_


	5. Coincidences

Speak

Chapter 4:

"Coincidence"

* * *

Mother started worrying about the dinner days before it actually happened, and she didn't stop worrying about it until she had to plaster a smile across her face a few minutes before our guests were supposed to arrive. I took multiple trips to the market with her in the days prior, selecting everything she needed to make a delicious family meal (I was better at picking produce than she was and she knew it, though she attributed this knack to coincidence and not any powers I may or may not have possessed). Even Kazuyu and Shuuichi went with us once, as a sort of family outing, and on that family outing I learned something new about my stepuncle's impending visit.

"I'd like for the two of you to be there," Kazuyu said, addressing both myself and my stepbrother. We were eating dinner out at a restaurant; the groceries were in Kazuyu's car in the parking lot.

"Even Shuichi-san?" my stepbrother said, surprised.

"He's your brother and a part of this family too, Shuuichi-kun," my mother said after a moment of silence. She had recovered from the shock of hearing me blatantly described as an outsider quickly enough, and with kindness that did not surprise me.

"It's fine, Mother," I told her, smiling at Shuuichi to tell him that I didn't mind him at all (even though one part of me, the jealous one, did). "I don't live at home and I'm not technically related. I see his point."

However, Shuuichi still seemed embarrassed by his outburst, and he said: "Sorry, Shuichi-san. You know I think of you as a big brother."

I couldn't help but feel a little happier at hearing that.

"And I think of you as my son," said Kazuyu. I transferred my attentions to him; we stared at one another with ill-concealed emotion. Our conversation about his treachery was still an open and bleeding wound, apparently, and I could see the wariness coiled in his eyes.

_I want you to be there because I don't want you spilling anything to your mother in revenge,_ he seemed to be thinking, which suited me just fine. Let him be afraid, then.

"Thank you both," I told them, and Shuuichi relaxed. Kazuyu did not. "But may I ask why it's important we both attend?"

Kazuyu perked up at that. "Mamoru has a daughter!" he said, smiling at his son. "She's older than you, Shuuichi-kun, and younger than you, Shuichi-san, but together your ages might balance each other out. I think it would be best if she had people around her age to hang out with while my brother and I... catch up. I want her to feel welcome and get to know her cousins, after all."

"Oh, great, a _girl_ cousin," Shuuichi sighed.

"Did you want a boy?" my mother teased.

Shuuichi was not ashamed to be vocal about his desires. "Yeah, I did! Someone I could throw a ball around with or something. It'd be cool." He sighed again. "Oh well. Maybe she'll like videogames."

"Oh, I don't know. I think it'll be nice to have a little more femininity in our house," said my mother, smiling. "I might finally have a shopping buddy. Boys are never interested in stuff like that."

She looked at me when she said it and I smiled an apology. Shuuichi suppressed a small giggle. I sensed a joke he would not speak (probably one about my long hair and wide eyes, if I had to take a guess).

"Maybe you will," said Kazuyu, taking her hand beneath the table.

"What's her name, dear?" Mother asked.

"We didn't get that far in our conversation," Kazuyu admitted, looking a bit embarrassed. "But she goes to your old highschool's sister school, Shuichi—Fukuya High, all girls. Maybe you'll already know one another."

My heart sank like a stone. I smiled anyway. "Maybe we will," I said, thinking of all the girls I'd left behind pining for the only red-headed boy in the entire school, and I had to suppress a shudder.

I had no way of knowing, of course, just how right my stepfather actually was.

* * *

"This has to be perfect," Mom said when I showed up three hours ahead of time to help her cook. "Kazuyu is going to try to make amends with Mamoru and everything needs to be _perfect_."

"Of course," I told her.

"The meal is crucial," she said, eyes intense. "We can't mess up a thing."

"Of course.

Later, when dinner was nearing completion and she started to set the places at the dining room table, my mother said: "Your cousin will sit beside you while the fathers take the heads of the table, and Shuuichi will sit next to me. Do you mind? I figure a girl will want to sit by the older son, and Shuuichi might not talk to her. He's pretty disappointed that she's a girl."

"I don't mind at all, Mother," I told her. I was up to my elbows in flour, kneading dough for rolls. When I was through I put them in the oven, and Mom tried to rub a smudge of white power off my cheek.

"Oh dear, I made you into a mess," she tutted. "Go upstairs and wash. I can manage down here."

I glanced at the clock on the wall: we still had 45 minutes to go, just enough time to cook the bread and just enough time for Mother to give herself an ulcer from worrying.

"You're sure?" I asked a bit dubiously, and she pushed me out.

"I need to go over everything one last time, so yes!" she said, shutting the door behind me. Her voice was muffled when she spoke from the other side. "Now wash!"

Like an obedient son, I went upstairs and into the hall bathroom. Shuuichi's room was down the hall, and from it I heard the sound of a videogame (one with guns, the type Mother hated the most) blazing away like thunder.

"Better turn that off soon or Mother won't like it," I said to myself, and I turned on the faucet. I splashed water on my face to clear the flour and then I scrubbed my arms clean. Once finished I gave myself a thorough once-over. My white shirt was spotless, sleeves rolled up as I liked them, and my jeans were likewise clean. I redid the tie holding back my hair just to make sure it looked all right, but otherwise I had nothing to do but wait.

I went to Shuuichi's room, not knowing what else to do, and I found him on the floor with a controller in hand. His room was messier than mine was, with clothes and books and balls scattered across the floor. It was a wonder I could walk inside.

"Hello," I said, and he grunted. He never was very responsive when there was a game in the room, but I sat down on his bed anyway to watch the gore and guns go off. Bored with that (I'd seen worse carnage, naturally), I let my gaze wander over the room until I spotted his computer on a desk.

"Would you mind if I used your computer to check my email?" I asked him, and he grunted again. Taking that as a yes, I sat down at the desk (had to move a stack of magazines to do it, of course) and jiggled the mouse. The screen woke up from sleep mode with a flash of light, and I opened an internet browser.

I checked my school email first; nothing needed doing. Then, on a whim, I checked my 'kurama' address. The contents made me smile: Momo had replied to my last message the day after I sent it.

_I'm not free this weekend,_ she had said, _but I'm free the weekend after. Will that do? I was thinking sushi since that seems easy and quick and pretty fun, too, though you should choose since I'm the one who's taking you out. =P_

_Weirdly enough, my mom's a surgeon herself. She works at N Hospital in the critical response __ward, and she graduated from Tokyo U. back when I was a kid. Kinda weird coincidence, ha ha, though there are probably a ton of Tokyo U. med students out there and all that. _

_What year of school are you in? It's my last year of highschool at Fukuya; heard of it? I hate highschool, personally. I want to study the subjects I like, not the ones I have to take. College sounds like so much fun compared to highschool._

_Anyway, see you soon, and tell me where you'd like to go. Also, do you play any sports? Consider the question an icebreaker (and yes, 'Mathletes' counts, Mr. Tokyo U.!)._

She didn't sign the message, and I didn't reply with a salutation.

_I went to Meioh High, actually,_ I wrote,and as I laid down the words I felt a sense of unease make my stomach rise. _Isn't Meioh affiliate with Fukuya? We were in school at the same time. I wonder if I ever saw you at the school festivals? They interacted and our sports teams played against each other, if I recall correctly. _

_N Hospital? That's a very prestigious place. Do you know what professors she had at university? Many of the professors here are tenured, so we very well could share classes. _

_I know what you mean about highschool. I didn't care for it. College is a freeing experience, but I'll save stories about that for our outing, if you don't mind. _

_As for sports-_

I didn't know quite how to follow that. I was an athlete, yes, but I never played on the school teams. In the end, I felt like being honest would work the best.

_As for sports, _I continued, I do consider myself athletic, _but I did not play team sports in highschool. I played baseball in middleschool, though, and I like running. I once participated in a science competition, to tell you the truth, and the experience was... well, do you play any sports?_

I sent her the email right then, thinking about what had been said. The coincidence of our highschools was unsettling, but not unheard of or outright alarming. Still, I filed the information away for further study.

"Who you talking to?" Shuuichi said, powering off his game.

"A friend of mine," I told him. "We should probably go downstairs. Mother is getting anxious."

"Right," he said, standing up. He was wearing an outfit similar to mine, though his was somewhat rumpled. "Let's go."

* * *

We got downstairs just as the front door opened. Shuuichi and I both started smiling the way Mother wanted, but it was only Kazuyu coming home from work. The smiles deflated into bored expression so similar that we looked more like brothers than we ever had before.

"Sorry I'm late!" he said, handing his coat to Mother as he kissed her. "Traffic slowed me down."

"They're not here yet either," she said, voice high. Her hands fluttered like hummingbirds. "Go freshen up and we'll wait for them." She saw my brother and I on the stairs. "Oh, good, you're here. Wait in the living room, if you want!"

"Sweet!" said Shuuichi, and he bolted off. I, however, stayed with Mother.

"Oh, I hope they like us," she said wistfully. "Kazuyu was telling me how much he regrets the missing years. We want them to come back and get to know us."

"I agree, Mother," I said, distracted by the sound of tires on the driveway. My demon hearing was better than her human ears, so I waited until headlights flashed in the front window before I said: "I think someone's here."

"Eep! Do I look OK?" she said, frantic, and then a car door slammed. She smoothed her skirt down and patted her hair. I caught her wrists in my hands.

"You're beautiful," I told her, eye to eye and serious, and she sighed.

"Thank you," she said. "You always know how to calm me down."

Her smile made me smile. "We'll just be ourselves and they'll beg to come back. You'll see. Trust me."

She finally looked calm, but then she jumped when someone knocked on the door. "I'll get it!" she sang, and pounced. I stood behind her as the door swung open and she said: "Hello and welcome to our home!"

The door and Mother blocked most of the outside world. I saw Mamoru first, looking awkward and fidgety beneath Mother's cheer. His bright eyes scanned the doorway and the pair of us, obviously as apprehensive as Mother felt, and he bowed, dove-gray suit rumpling as he did it.

"Thank you for having us," he said, black hair falling into his eyes. He was more handsome than my stepfather, and taller, and more muscular. Frankly, he looked younger despite being the senior brother. Perhaps worry had aged Kazuyu unfairly. "My name is Mamoru." Then he added "Kazuyu's brother" almost as an afterthought. I could tell he wasn't used to saying it.

"My name is Shiori," said my mother, bowing as well with a huge smile. "I am Kazuyu's wife, and this is my son, Shuichi."

I stepped forward and bowed as well. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mamoru-san," I said, and I heard a sharp intake of breath split the air behind him.

Mamoru glanced over his shoulder. "Don't stand back there, Momoko," he said, smirking with good humor, and his arm snaked back and dragged the girl forward by her shoulders.

My jaw started to drop, but I somehow managed to keep it closed.

"Hello, dear," my mother said, bowing at the same mute girl I had been emailing for the past week. "Oh, you look just like your father don't you!" She did not wait for Momoko to reply and instead said: "But Kazuyu mentioned that there might be three of you."

I didn't look at Mamoru when he said "Momoko's mother couldn't make it," because I was far too busy staring at his daughter, who stared right back at me with a face that said "What the hell is this shit?" louder than any shouted words. But then my mother addressed her and she was forced to break our gaze.

"Well, Momoko, this is my son, Shuichi," she said, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me to her side. "I hope the two of you can become good friends. Isn't that right, Shuichi?"

Momoko nodded, brow furrowed, and I could see the wheels turning in her head. With a flash of dreadful certainty I knew that she had picked up on my seemingly-new name. I belatedly willed my mother to quit using my name in every sentence, but I knew by then that the wish had come too late. Momo wouldn't forget so easily.

"That's right, Mother," I said, trying to keep my bland and pleasant mask from cracking. "Shall we show our guests inside?"

"Oh, of course!" she said, having forgotten about inviting them in in her rush to say all the proper hellos. "This way, please."

Mamoru, arm still wrapped around his daughter's shoulders, followed after Shiori without any hesitation, but Momo dragged her feet as she took me in. Shock had given way to annoyed confusion, a deadly combination if there ever was one, but a quick scan of her hands let me breathe more easily. She had no dry erase board or pen with which to question either myself or my family members.

We went into the living room: three loveseats arranged around a coffee table afforded us all ample room to sit. Momo and her father shared a couch while my mother and I did the same, and for a moment no one quite knew what to say. That was when Shuuichi walked in from the kitchen, mouth full and fingers wrapped around a biscuit.

"Oh," said Mother, standing. "This is my stepson!" She guided him over to the last loveseat and sat him down. "This is your uncle Mamoru and cousin Momoko. Say hello!"

"Hello," he said, a little shy after he noticed Momo. It took me a minute to notice his rising blush, and I wondered at it before realizing that Momo did indeed look very good. Her hair was styled in a messy bun at the nape of her neck and she wore a gold colored dress that made her bronzed skin glimmer, and the modest cut of it highlighted her slender figure.

"You're... Kazuyu's son?" said Mamoru, staring at him, and I knew exactly what he saw: a mop of brown hair, narrow brown eyes, tan skin, and a damn close likeness of Kazuyu if there ever was one.

"I'm Shuuichi," he said, and I saw Momo's incredulous eyes flicker back to me.

_What, now there are _two_ Shuuichis?_ I could see her thinking.

Mother noticed and interpreted Momo and Mamoru's raised eyebrows (really, they did look a lot alike; even some of their gestures were the same) before either of them made a comment. "It's coincidence that they have the same name," she said, "but we get along fine by using Shuuichi-kun—" she pointed at my brother "—and Shuichi-san." She pointed at me.

My mouth went dry when Momo's eyes narrowed, and she nudged her father in the arm. He looked at her, and with a start I remembered her offer over email to teach me sign language.

_Oh no,_ I thought, _she'll bring it up to her father, won't she?_, but then I found a moment's reprieve in the form of my stepfather. He walked into the room just as Momo lifted her hands for the first sign, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves with a frown, and when he realized that he was not alone he froze, eyes flying to his brother and stopping there. Mamoru, likewise, flinched and stopped dead in his tracks. Momo did the same, a shorter mirror of her father sitting next to him on the pale beige loveseat.

"Hello," Mamoru said at last, clipped voice finally finding words.

"Hello," said Kazuyu, and they stared.

Momo looked up at her father, anxious, and she squeezed his hand. He shot her a thankful glance and squeezed back, and then he stood.

Mother and I, sitting on the second loveseat, watched the two men approach one another with bated breath, and that breath was released when they hesitantly—and then more firmly—took each other's hands in a western-style shake.

"Kazuyu," said Mamoru.

"Mamoru," said Kazuyu. "It's been too long."

"Yeah," said Mamoru. "How... how have you been, since..."

"Oh, good," he said, and his lips twisted. "Working a lot. You?"

"Started a business," Mamoru said. "Booming. Um."

Kazuyu's eyes wandered to the rest of us, and he spotted Momo. "Your daughter?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Well." He looked like he had no idea what to do, which he probably didn't. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Kazuyu. Call me... Kazuyu."

She nodded, smiling a smile that looked as skittish as a rabbit, and she blinked up at the ceiling. She was holding back tears, oddly enough.

"You've met my sons, and wife?" Kazuyu went on, addressing both Momo and Mamoru.

"Yes."

"Good." He scanned the room again. "But, your wife, is she—?"

"We divorced," Mamoru said tightly, and an awkward silence filled the room to the brim.

"I'm... sorry," said Kazuyu.

Mamoru grimaced. "It was a long time ago."

"I see." My stepfather looked at my mother. "Shiori, is dinner...?"

She hopped to her feet. "Of course! This way!"

And with that, we marched into the kitchen. Mother quickly and efficiently did her best impersonation of a sheepdog, herding everyone into their predetermined spots at the table—everyone, that is, besides me and Momo. She seemed to think that if she took care of everyone else we would be able to figure out where to sit, which was true, but I didn't want to sit next to Momo, not when the air between us was charged with so much tension, and it took all the restraint I had not to excuse myself the minute we sat down and she started staring at me out of the corner of one dark eye. I, in turn, looked at my stepfather, brother, mother, and uncle with a smile befitting a priest and I did not—would not—allow Momo's obvious consternation affect me.

Shuuichi-kun, however, stared at her unabashedly. His behavior made me smile; a human boy of his age was always swayed by a girl, no matter if she was a beauty or only as pleasing as Momo, and I knew that she was new enough not to feel like a relative, for what it was worth. The on-sight fascination would fade over the course of the next ten minutes.

Mother had made Italian food: spaghetti with meatballs, cold salad, and fresh baked bread. Conversation picked up, stilted by subtext and bad memories; the talk between the fathers was so awkward that everyone besides them concentrated mostly on the food. Momo ate faster than anyone else, and when her plate became pretty much empty I realized that she was picking at the remains of her meal with very controlled nudges of her fork.

_What in the world is she doing?_ I thought, watching her subtly slide noodles around. Curiosity got the best of me when she turned her plate a few degrees in my direction, and I glanced at it without seeming to. The bottom fell out of my stomach.

_Ku, ra, ma, _she had written in hiragana with her leftover noodles, and I met her eyes above the plate.

_You've got some explaining to do, mister, _her eyes said, and I quickly loaded another lump of pasta over her handiwork.

"Eat," I told her as politely as I could, and I hissed "Later!" in a voice so low only she could hear. She didn't look happy but she was not in any position to fight back, and she began to slurp the new noodles as sullenly as a stormcloud.

The fathers rambled on. Talking about family of any sort could lead to painful areas and talk of business would only remind them of what both had lost, and so after a while they began to discuss their children.

"Shuuichi-kun here is quite the sportsman," Kazuyu was saying. "He plays on most of the school teams, and he's smart, too. "

Mamoru smiled. "Is that right?" he said. "I'll have to come to your games sometime."

Shuuichi nodded, meek before his uncle's questing gaze.

"And Shuichi-san," Kazuyu went on, "was top of his class in highschool. Now he's at Tokyo U.—"

(I would have laughed when Momo mouthed the name of the school right along with him had I not been so intent on ignoring her.)

"—studying to be a surgeon." Kazuyu looked fond of me for once. "We have high hopes for him, don't we, Shiori?"

She smiled like an icon. "Of course we do. Shuichi-san always had a knack for studying."

"Sounds like you're quite the young man," Mamoru said, grinning at me. Once the pressure was off I found that he had an easy manner that tended toward smiles and quick wit.

I chuckled. "You flatter me. I worked hard, that's all."

"And you, Momo," Shiori said. "What do you do?"

Momo looked at her father.

"She's into sports," he said, "and—"

"Which ones?" Shuuichi burst out, eager.

"Softball," said Mamoru.

"Cool!" said Shuuichi. "My favorite is baseball! Want to throw a ball around after dinner? What position do you play? How well do you bat?"

"She's the shortstop and center-fielder," Mamoru said, and Shuuichi shot him a rather dirty look.

"I was asking _her_," he said with the boldness only teens are capable of, and Mother gasped. Momo seemed to shrink down into her seat as she looked at her father, helpless to respond.

"Be nice!" Kazuyu said in a low voice, and that's when it dawned on me.

Kazuyu had never mentioned to any of us that Momo the Mute was indeed a mute.

_Can he really not know? _I thought with a burgeoning sense of alarm. _Did Ryuuji never tell him what he knew about Momo? This could get very ugly very quickly unless someone does something __about it._

I dreaded the moment when I found that that person needed to be me.

Mamoru, however, seemed to come to the same conclusion if the suspicious look on his face was any indication.

"Kazuyu," he said, "did our... _father_ say anything to you about Momoko when she was born?" He stumbled over the word 'father' even more than when he called himself Kazuyu's brother.

Momoko, beside me, stiffened.

"No, nothing. Should he have?"

"A part of me expected this," said Mamoru grimly, and for a moment he seemed to be talking to himself. "He knew everything but he didn't say a word. My father just ignored her completely."

Momo twitched, swallowed, and I could smell the salt of her welling tears. A sudden rush of sympathy made me want to tell her that everything would be fine, you'll see, but the words lodged in my throat and I couldn't speak.

Mamoru mopped a hand over his face, tired. "You probably didn't think of her much in the years we've been apart. You barely even know her, after all, and Father never wanted to hear of her again. I should have expected this."

"Should have expected what?" Shuuichi-kun asked, confused and getting angrier by the second. "Momo-chan, what is he talking about?"

Momo looked to her father.

"Momo!" Shuuichi pressed. "Say something!"

"She can't."

I didn't mean to throw that out there but my mouth had done it before my brain could catch up. Everyone turned to look at me. Mamoru seemed less shocked than my family, and Momo only continued to bite her lip and stare down at her plate.

"She can't talk, Shuuichi-kun," I said slowly. "Isn't that right, Mamoru-san?"

He stared at me with uncertain gratitude. "Yes, that's right. But how did you...?"

"We're acquainted," I said, trying to appear calm. "We went to affiliated schools."

Momo seemed shocked by this. She hadn't read my email yet, apparently.

Mamoru nodded, grateful that he wasn't alone, and then he looked to my father, mother, and brother. "I'm afraid Momo was born without vocal chords," he said, adopting the tone of a forgiving science teacher explaining something routine to a new recruit. "You'll forgive her silence in light of this, I hope."

My mother floundered for words, as did Kazuyu, but she found her voice first. "Of course we will!" she protested. "I'm sorry for the confusion, but Kazuyu never mentioned—" She cut herself off, afraid of incriminating her husband, but he shook his head.

"I didn't know either," he said. "Father never said a word."

"He said plenty of words to _me_," Mamoru growled. "Words like 'I never want to hear about your little freak of a d—'"

A hand descended onto the tabletop with a crash. Everyone jumped, except for Momo. She was the one that did hit the table. Her eyes burned into her father's, shining wetly with the tears rolling down her cheeks, and she shook her head with finality. Her father pulled back, anger abating in the wake of her sadness.

"Momoko, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—" he began, but she squeezed her eyes shut, shook her head again, and stood. Her hands moved in front of her, a pair of dancing birds, and she bowed to each of my family members before spinning on her heel and disappearing into the kitchen.

"What did she say?" Shuuichi said, timid. "In, in sign language, right?"

"She... said she didn't want me discussing her like she isn't here," her father said, obviously realizing that he had messed things up between him and his daughter.

Shiori reached out and, in a gesture of connection, patter Mamoru's clenched fist. He looked at her in disbelief. So did Kazuyu, who I don't think had recovered from the shock of the situation yet.

"She's a teenager like any other," she said, "though I'm sure she's struggled more than most. It must have been hard for her to manage with her voice like it is."

"I'm gonna go talk to her," Shuuichi said suddenly, and he stood. "Cousins have to stick together."

"He's a good kid," Mamoru said as we watched him go after Momo.

"We know," Shiori said, smiling.

"She's always so cheerful," Mamoru said, voice thick, and we didn't need to clarify who he was talking about. "I never meant for her to find out what her grandfather said about her, but when she was small she found the letter... I should have burned it. Momoko got into everything as a kid."

"What did he say about her?" Kazuyu asked. "He only told me that you'd had a baby girl, not her name or anything. I just assumed she was..."

"Normal?" Mamoru supplied. Kazuyu blushed. "Yeah, Ryuuji thought she would be, too, but when he found out he told me that Momoko was nothing but a freak of nature and a bastard who would never be recognized or even acknowledged by the Hatanaka family. Didn't you ever wonder why I was so intent on staying away from him?"

"I'm... sorry," Kazuyu said. "If I'd known, I..."

But Mamoru only laughed. "I hate to say it, but what would you have done? Gone against Father? No one goes against him and keeps the Hatanaka name. I know that firsthand."

"Ryuuji-san can be difficult," Mother said, trying to recharge the mood with more optimism. "I know that from experience. But if he only met Momo, I think he'd sing a different tune. She seems like a sweet girl. No one couldn't be proud of her."

Despite his melancholy, Mamoru's pride in his daughter was evident. "She's a softball player," he said. "One of the best on the team, you know. And her scores in mathematics aren't bad, either. Sure her history and literature aren't great, but she more than makes up for it with her sports record." The grown man looked like he was choking up. "And she's a dancer, did I mention that? Not on any teams or whatever, but she could if she wanted to, I just know it. I'm so proud of her. She does so much despite..." He put a hand over his eyes and his shoulders shook, just once.

"She's a completely normal girl, Mamoru-san," my mother said gently. "You have every right to be proud when she's overcome so much."

"Damn right I do," he said, hand dropping. A single tear marred his cheek. "Who needs a father when you've got a daughter like her to be proud of? Not me. Ryuuji can go rot for all I care."

Neither of my parents agreed aloud with that sentiment, but they didn't exactly contest it, either. They and I both knew that Ryuuji, however rich he might have been, was not the father or grandfather a child needed to grow up knowing.

I stood, sensing that the brothers were on the verge of a connecting moment, and I said: "Mother, will you help me clear the plates for dessert?"

"Of course!" she said, sharing my sentiments if her wink was any indication, and we emptied the table and left. Low voices followed us out; they sounded more relaxed than they had all evening.

Inside the kitchen things were likewise relaxed. Mother and I walked in to find Shuuichi and Momo sitting atop one of the granite counters, feet dangling high over the tile floor, and Shuuichi was giggling as if at a joke. Momo was laughing, too, shoulders shaking in silent bursts of humor, and when we walked in they looked up, eyes wide as if they'd been caught doing something illegal. That's when I noticed the notepad sharing their close-together knees.

"You two having fun?" Mother asked.

To his credit, Shuuichi tried to stop giggling so much. He failed. "Momo... she was just... she was just telling me about her softball coach," he said, pausing to keep himself under control.

"Was she, now?" I asked, and when I spoke they both started to... what did teenagers call it? 'Crack up'?

"Oh, uh-huh," Shuuichi chortled, and Momo nodded until I thought her head would fall off.

"I'm glad you're getting along," Mother said, smiling. "Oh, and do you prefer Momo or Momoko? I wouldn't want to get it wrong!"

"Oh, I already asked her. She likes Momo," Shuuichi said. "Just Momo. No 'san' or 'chan' or anything."

Momo smiled at him and scribbled something on the notepad. Shuuichi leaned over to read it and made a 'snurf' noise, which I recognized as a muffled laugh. Then he looked like a lightbulb had gone off somewhere in the vicinity of his head.

"Hey, do you want to throw a ball around?" he asked Momo, who seemed elated at the prospect. "I have an extra glove. It'll be fun!"

She made a thumbs-up sign, grinning, and they hopped off the counter. But then Momo looked to my mother and tilted her head to the side, obviously asking if it was OK.

"You go on ahead," she urged, and Momo's grin resurfaced. She bowed twice, unable to stop smiling, and she and Shuuichi dashed out like a pair of racing dogs. Momo took the notepad with her, but she forgot the pen and left it lying on the counter.

Mom smiled after them. "Shuuichi-kun has calmed Momo down a bit; she really does seem like a nice girl. She smiles a lot."

"She does, doesn't she?" I mused.

"Tell you what," Mother said as she took the dessert—chilled chocolate mousse—out of the refrigerator. "Why don't you go with them and see if you can get to know Momo. I'm going to dawdle over dessert so Kazuyu and Mamoru can talk in private; I'll come get you later."

"Thanks," I told her, and as I walked out I spotted the small chalkboard hanging by the door. We used it to communicate phone numbers, dates, and times within the house, but right then I had a different use for it.

"Mind if I borrow this?" I asked Mother, pointing, and when she saw it her eyes lit up.

"Good idea, Shuichi," she said. "Now go have some fun."

* * *

I nearly got bowled over after my first step onto our back porch. Momo came flying out of nowhere at top speed, forcing me to jump back inside to avoid getting pummeled, and a flying leap later she had a white ball clutched in her gloved hand. It would have smashed a window had she not caught it in time. Then she jogged off the porch and onto the grass, holding up the ball like it was a trophy.

"Sorry, the throw went wide!" Shuuichi called from across the yard, and Momo grinned before launching it back at him. She had a powerful arm; the ball cleared the yard with ease and plenty of power to spare.

I stood on the porch after that, watching them toss the ball and try to feint each other out; neither appeared to notice my presence, but Momo in her incongruously billowing skirt was interesting to watch move around. Her feminine appearance didn't fit with her sporty nature. But eventually I started my habit of assessing my surroundings, and that's when I noticed the notepad lying on one of the deck chairs.

_Now what were they laughing at?_ I thought, picking it up so I could sit down. The pad only bore Momo's half of the conversation, so I had to fill in the gaps myself, but given my talent at getting inside someone's head... well, it wasn't difficult.

It seemed like Shuuichi had talked to her for a bit (probably about how he valued her as a cousin and to keep her chin up, if her reply was any indication) before Momo had penned her first response on the notepad. The aforementioned read: "Thanks, Shuuichi. I needed that. Wanna start over?"

_Sure,_ he had probably said.

"Great! Well, I'm Momo—no chan or san or whatever. Just Momo."

_I go by Shuuichi-kun so we can tell me and my brother apart,_ he seemed to have said. Maybe he'd even added _He's Shuichi-san,_ which seemed likely considering the following change of subject.

"Speaking of which," wrote Momo, "does he have any nicknames?"

I knew she was talking about me; there was no one else she could have been asking after.

But, thankfully, Shuuichi seemed to have told her that he didn't know of any of my alleged aliases, because next Momo wrote: "You're sure?" And then, beneath that: "Okie-dokie. I guess that makes sense. But seriously, I wouldn't blame you if you secretly called him MetroMan or something. His hair's even longer than mine."

A pause. Shuuichi had probably agreed. The back of my neck felt hot beneath my hair, which suddenly seemed quite heavy, because that's when I spotted the drawing.

It was a small one in the style Momo had used when we first met, so I knew it was hers, and it looked to be a detailed drawing of a young man with cross-hatched long hair, pronounced eyelashes, and eyes so big and sparkly they took up most of his face. I knew it was supposed to be me; the hair was too distinctive.

I couldn't help but chuckle in a manner that even Hiei would have found impressive. "Oh, you are going to regret this," I said pleasantly. I'd been called worse things, of course, but still, this...

"Shuichi-san!"

I looked up. Shuuichi was staring at me and the pad in my hands in horror.

"Just passing through," I said, smiling at both him and the equally-as-horrified Momo. I looked down again, and the joke they'd shared when I walked in with my mother became apparent. Momo had scribbled another pastiche of myself, but this one had a cape, a mask, and a banner above its head that proclaimed: "Behold! MetroMan to the rescue! Enemies of good grooming beware!"

"I can explain," Shuichi stuttered, but then my mother appeared at the door.

"Shuuichi-kun, telephone!"

He hesitated, looking at Momo out of the corner of his eye. It was obvious that he didn't want to leave her to my mercy, but she, in contrast, was leering happily through narrowed eyes.

"Payback," was the word she radiated. "Got ya Shuichi, Kurama, or whatever your name is!"

"Well, um," said Shuuichi, but Momo nodded at him and he stopped hesitating. "I'll be back as quick as I can," he said, and marched out with his head hanging.

"Your hair is sticking up in the back, brother!" I called after him, keeping my voice as clear as a summer sky, and he stopped in his tracks and grabbed at the offending hair. But then he realized just what I was playing at and went crimson across the nose and cheeks, and he darted back indoors.

Momo sniggered, the dry sound mimicking the scream of a dry, dead leaf being stepped on. I turned to her. She stood in the middle of the yard, a smear of dirt on her nose and the baseball glove wrapped around her fist, and I noticed that her shoes were missing. Mud coated her toes and ankles like a pair of socks.

"And you," I said, "are going to track mud inside. MetroMan says that there is a hose on the back of the garage. Can I take you to it?"

She tilted her head to one side, smiling mischievously, and she nodded, looking at me from beneath her lowered eyelashes. I stood up and walked past her, heading for the garage, but when we neared one another I held up the chalkboard. She took it, eyes widening in shock at my silent consideration.

"Come with me," I told her.

* * *

I was bent over the spigot to the hose when I heard the chalk scraping over slate. The light was fading from the sky, the sun having set not long before, and I turned to find Momo brandishing the chalkboard like a shield. She'd written at least a paragraph.

I pointed at the spigot. "Clean up."

She shook the board once. I reached out to take it. She held on tight.

I sighed. "Wash while I read."

Her fingers slackened, and she stepped past me with a glare.

I watched her brace her hands against the garage as she lifted a foot into the water's flow, breath hissing past her lips when she came in contact with the cold. Her hair, escaping from its knot, drifted across her cheeks and throat and shoulders, black strands matching her sin-dark eyes. She noticed me watching after a few moments and stared straight back, almost as if to ask "What the hell do _you_ want?" with the force of her scowl.

I looked down at the chalkboard.

"Kurama or Shuichi," she had written. "Which is it? Did you know we were cousins when we met the other night? And what do you mean, we went to affiliated schools? I've never met you before in my life. None of this makes any sense and I want answers, now."

I reread everything twice. I didn't realize that she had shut off the water until I heard her clear her throat, and I found that no words would come.

Momo crossed her arms over her chest, expectant. When I did not reply she grabbed the chalkboard out of my hands and pointed at the name question. Her eyes appeared to burn in the twilight.

"My given name," I said at last, "is Minamino Shuichi. I went to Meioh High, which is affiliated with Fukuya All Girls School, which you attend."

She raised an eyebrow.

"It was in your last email, which I answered a few minutes before you arrived," I explained. "And no, I had no idea we were step-cousins when we met that night. I hadn't even known that my stepfather had a brother at that point."

Momo's shoulders slumped. She was thinking about how her grandfather was ashamed of her, I was sure of it. The urge to comfort her made it hard to think.

"We aren't close," I said, and then I told her a complete lie. "He probably told Shuuichi-kun and my mother, though."

She bought the story, smiling, but then her face darkened and she used the ball of her hand to blot out much of what she'd written. All that remained were the words: Kurama or Shuichi?

_Truth or lies, _I thought. _If she ever sees Yusuke again she'll hear the name Kurama. What do I do?_

Momo, before me, waited.

"My given name," I repeated, "is Minamino Shuichi. But Kurama is a name that... reflects a... _darker_ part of my past, one which my family knows nothing about." I hoped that she'd understand my secretive motives given her own history. "We all have our secrets. Please don't inform my loved ones of mine. The existence of that name is something I do not want made public."

I was afraid, when I saw her searching eyes lying still and intent upon my face, that she would ask questions, delve into things I did not want her knowing. She did not, however, pry into my life at all. She just lowered the chalkboard with a scowl, took a deep breath, and raised it again. Then she blotted out the two names and started scribbling anew.

"OK, I get that," she wrote. "But you are obviously still living that 'darker part of your past' right now, so it's not in the past at all, now is it?"

"I'm afraid," I said with growing unease, "that I do not know what you mean."

"Yusuke obviously knows you as Kurama," she wrote. "You're obviously still associating with people from your 'dark past'. Your past isn't over. It's your present."

I took a deep breath. "I am doing him a favor as an old friend. I have moved on as best I can."

"But not completely."

It took me a long time to formulate a response. "My reasons are mine," I said to Momo. "It's... complicated. But I promise you that Kurama is merely a nickname, that I did not know who you were when we met, and that I will fill my role as your cousin—"

She held up a hand. I paused. She wrote.

"Formal again? Quit it! We're related, aren't we? And besides, we're friends!"

I glanced up from the board in amazement. Was she really so quick to forgive? Momo had adopted a patient smirk, one that said I was off the hook (for now) but that I would have to tread lightly if I wanted things to stay that way. I had every intention of doing so.

"I could tell that you were as freaked out as I was when I saw you at the front door," she went on on the board. "This is all just a huge and hilarious coincidence. Small world, eh?"

"Yes, of course," I said, smiling at her once I finished reading. "It gets smaller every day."

She grinned. I smiled. Night closed in around us and the faucet on the wall dripped water on the ground. Eventually Momo dipped her head and pushed past me, walking in silence toward the house. Halfway there, however, she propped the chalkboard on her hip, erased it, and scribbled something in compact white dust. When I got closer she held it up so I could see. Her words seemed surreal.

"We still on for next Sunday?" she asked, and as I thought about it, nodding as I did, I watched her face light up. Momo turned to go back to the house, all smiles, and the sight of her words penned in ephemeral white chalk gave me uncomfortable pause.

"This is all just a huge and hilarious coincidence," she had written.

In my world, there was no such thing.

* * *

_NOTE:_

_I want to show Momo's various sides just as much as I want to show Kurama's. She is optimistic most of the time, but there's a darker part to her that I think she's afraid to look at in the light (as evidenced when she thought her uncle deserved the bad things that happened to him). She can be almost vicious when it comes to protecting herself (because she's afraid of being hurt after what happened with her family), but she's also forgiving (though it's a conscious effort, at times). I'll work on showing more of this in the near future. Her parents are also a bit deep. They see so much in her and kind of turn a blind eye on her faults, perhaps giving her too much credit where it isn't really due (though I think that's typical of any parent, really)._

_Momo and Shuuichi-kun are going to get to be buddies, although he won't take over the story or anything. They just get to be good friends over their love of sports. I've never had a sporty OC before (I'm used to dealing with Dani, the bum-legged). It's pretty cool!_

_Also, I hope you liked this! I had a ball writing it =] Thanks to my reviewers! I'm amazed at all this wonderful feedback; you guys are the greatest ever! Out-Of-Control-Authoress, BlackMoonWhiteSky, Naitza Kururugi, Koryu Elric, chocolateluvr13, dumbrat, Ekaki no Hikari, Foxgirl Ray, strawberry9506, Aisop, Reclun, Kaiya's Watergarden, heve-chan, and Talye Kendrin!_


	6. Explanations

Speak

Chapter 06:

"Explanations"

* * *

My inbox had nine emails: One was from Sugi, asking if she could pretty please borrow my nice pair of yellow wedges for a date she had the next day. Another was from Akko, asking if I had done the night's math homework. Yuuki had sent us all a chain message detailing how we'd die if you didn't pass the email along (I didn't send it to anyone), and five of the messages were promotional emails from some stores I frequented.

The ninth email was from Kurama.

I read it in the car on my cell phone's small screen, leaning my forehead against the passenger side window. Dad played an _enka_ tape over the stereo, humming along when he remembered the tune, and neither of us spoke until we turned onto the highway and Dad finally said: "I'm sorry. About what I said."

I snapped my phone shut, replaying Kurama's—Shuichi's?—last written line in my head. _Do you play any sports?_ he had asked in the email, but what was the point of replying after what he learned at dinner?

To Dad, I signed: "It's fine. It was the truth. No use hiding it."

He watched the signs out of the corner of his eye, and when I finished he stared at the road like he could change it with the sheer force of his will. A fire burned in his dark eyes, bright and angry and hot.

"If my father," he spat, "only _knew_ you, he wouldn't act that way. It's not _you_, Momo, it's—"

I reached over and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it once before turning to him with a smile. _I know that_, I thought, and he understood.

"That's my girl," he whispered. A light chuckle. "You must get that kind streak from your mother. God knows it's not from my side of the family."

I did not agree out loud.

* * *

Mom pulled me indoors, kissed Dad's cheek, and shoved him out under the pretense of having girl talk. He waved past her, smiling when I returned the gesture, and then he vanished into the night.

Mom wasted no time in pulling me onto the couch. "Well, how'd it go?" she urged, sitting Indian-style in her baggy sweat suit and bed-rumpled hair. Our poses were identical, with throw pillows wrapped up in our arms as we faced one another to talk.

Our demeanors were less alike. I hesitated, fiddling with the pillow's fringe as I thought about what to say. Mom did not rush me despite her eagerness, and thanks to her quiet attitude—patience worked better on me than prying—I was able to find the nerve to sign: "I really like my new aunt. She is very kind."

Mom raised an eyebrow. "I'm taking note of how you didn't start with your uncle. Was he that bad?"

I shook my head. "No," I signed. "He was merely tense around Father, and me by extension. And…"

"And what?"

"My grandfather did not tell anyone about… me." I gestured at my throat. "It came as a surprise."

Her eyes narrowed. "You mean Ryuuji told the Hatanaka family _nothing_?" she said slowly.

I nodded.

"Bastard," she said.

"Mother!"

"What?" she asked, looking defensive behind her pillow. "He's probably called _you_ that before, so why can't I return the favor?"

I stared at her, shocked, and she ran her fingers through her hair with a moan. Teeth bit into her lower lip harshly; regret made her face seem pale.

"That came out wrong," she said, giving me a sincerely sheepish look. "I'm so sorry, Momo."

"It is fine," I signed on auto-pilot, but the words still hurt. I didn't want to let my injury show, however (offending Mom was NOT something I looked forward to, and if I seemed sad she'd be groveling for weeks) so I covered by telling her: "My younger cousin, Shuuichi-kun, is also very nice. He plays baseball. We threw one around after dinner. I plan on going to one of his games soon. I feel like we could become good friends!"

A relieved expression crossed her face. "Well, I'm glad _one_ of the Hatanakas is normal," she said. "I can't count your aunt since she's not blood related, of course, but I hope to hell she raises her stepson right."

"I get the feeling that she will," I told her.

"And hey, now I feel better about you going over there," she went on, thoughtful. "A nice, un-Hatanaka-ed aunt and a nice, unspoiled cousin. I thought they'd all be Ryuuji clones."

"Not all of them," I agreed, and my thoughts wandered to Kurama.

Or was he _Shuichi_, now?

I blame Mom's similar thoughts on our genetics, or maybe a psychic link, or something else that was equally as unavoidable. "Hey, what about your older cousin?" she said suddenly. "You haven't mentioned _him_ yet. Is he as unsullied by the Hatanakas as his mother?"

Freezing up wasn't a part of the plan, but it happened to me anyway. I stared at Mom like a dead fish, mouth gaping open as I thought about what to say, how to say it, and why.

Why _was_ all of this happening, anyway?

She was appropriately concerned by my reaction. "Are you OK, Momo?" she asked, taking my hand and chafing it. "Ugh, your fingers are freezing!"

I pulled my hand away despite the chill to sign: "I'm fine. It's just…"

When, from her perspective, it appeared like I wasn't going to go on, she asked: "Yeah, Momo?"

"It's just a big coincidence," I signed in a rush, "but do you remember the boys who defended me against those muggers a few weeks ago?"

"Your guardian angels, yeah," Mom said, looking confused. "But why—"

"My step-cousin was one of those boys."

She was the one to freeze, then. "One of," she said, and stopped. Then: "Oh wow. I mean, _wow_. Weird! Did he know who you were?"

I shook my head. "He did not know who I was when he saved me. I thought that he might have because the coincidence was so strange, but he seemed very surprised when we first saw one another this evening."

Mom had begun to grin. "Maybe it's fate!" she said, elbowing me in the ribs. "The red string of love tying the two of you together, leading to a fateful encounter and a dashing hero saving a princess from harm." A pause. "That _is_ romantic, right? I can't be too sure with kids today."

I didn't think it was romantic, not when confusion and unease made thinking of Shuichi, Kurama, _whoever_ he was, so difficult, but to Mom I merely signed: "Maybe it's the red string of family, instead. Wouldn't it stand to reason that I have more unconventional strings than most, because so many were severed when I was born?"

Her regretful expression haunted me far into my dreams.

* * *

I woke up the next morning with a purpose. An hour and a half before I needed to leave for school, I sat in bed with my laptop and set about responding to Kurama's email. He had not said anything during the night, so as the sun started pushing through my mauve curtains I took the initiative and wrote what I felt needed to be said.

_I want to be the first to say 'hello, cousin!',_ I wrote. _I also want to be the first to say that I'm confused by you, but that I'm not going to pressure you into telling me things you don't want to talk about, blah blah blah, because I can understand what it's like to have secrets you don't want people to know. But we're family now, so if you do ever need to get that 'dark past' of yours off your chest, I promise I won't interrupt your monologue (ha ha, that was a joke). _

_The only thing I ask in return is that you treat my (and now, your) family matters with delicacy. Somehow I suspect that you already knew to do that, but still, I had never met my father's side of the family before last night and the weirdness with you wasn't something I wanted to deal with. It's fine now, of course, and it wasn't your fault at all so please, PLEASE don't apologize or anything ridiculous, but still—let's just get it all out of the way in these emails, OK? Compartmentalization is a good thing. If you want to know anything about my family, or if you want me to know anything about yours, just ask. (So long as I have the right to the same, of course. :P)_

_Anyway: after sleeping on the matter, I have come to the decision that I will, as far as these emails go, continue to refer to you as Kurama because that's what I've been calling you in my head and switching is a pain. To protect your privacy I'll start calling you Shuichi-san when in public. If you take issue with this, too bad—I mean, let me know so I can think about changing. Ha ha. That was another joke. _

I covered my face with my palm after writing the last line, but since I was letting the words flow without editing I let the lameness slide.

_I'm sorry for dumping so much random crap on you_, I concluded. _I just don't want to drag this out. Like it or not, we're stuck together. I know that sounds negative, but it's not supposed to be. The sooner we get the craziness out of the way, the sooner we can go back to being fun, relaxed email-pals_

—I stopped typing, staring at the last sentence.

Did I even _want_ to be his email-pal? His cousin?

His _date_?

What did I _really_ want from this dark, secretive guy, anyway?

I left for school a little while later, with the email saved to drafts so I could send it when I finally, finally figured out what I wanted to get out of this relationship.

* * *

My friends have the uncanny ability to tell when I'm distracted. Well, I say that 'they' have that little talent, but the truth is that I have it, too. We all do. It's part of our bond as friends, one that has proved itself many times over course of our fabulous foursome of a relationship.

Sometimes, though, I really wished they were a _touch_ more oblivious. Keeping things to myself is just so hard around them.

"What's wrong?" Yuuki asked in a concerned voice. She was always the first to pick up on peoples' moods; don't ask me why. Her fingers twined around my arm as she leaned her head on my shoulder, staring up at me with eyes more befitting a puppy than a human being.

"Yeah, you've been acting funny all day," said Sugi. She had been touching up her makeup in a compact mirror, but when she saw the way my face fell she shut the compact with a snap, alarm seeping in underneath her layer of perfect foundation.

Akko flipped her long black hair out of her face. "It's a boy," she said with a sigh, tone revealing that she thought the question was the obvious next step in Yuuki's line of inquiry. Yuuki and Sugi stared at her with raised eyebrows, but Akko just shrugged.

"Look at her," she said, gesturing at me with another sigh. "She's despondent. Sure sign of boy-induced preoccupation. Textbook case."

I sighed in defeat. Our uncanny ability is like a 'pack sense.' We can always tell when one of us is in trouble.

"See? She's even sighing." Akko crossed her arms over her chest. "That's usually _my_ job, so spill it, Momo. I'll beat you up if you don't."

It was Monday afternoon; lunchtime, to be exact. The four of us had walked a good ways away from the school and bedded down on a colorful patchwork quilt (supplied by Yuuki, who liked to make crafty things like that) beneath a shady tree to eat. I'd made onigiri the night before to share with everyone, after getting home from—

_Kurama, _I thought darkly. The incident from the night before had left me unsettled, to say the extreme least._ Shuichi, Minamino, whatever. How the heck do I explain this?_

"Well?" Sugi pressed, flipping her carefully curled hair over her shoulder. "It's rare you have boy trouble."

Yuuki shot the taller girl a vicious look, one full of warning and half-formed threats, but Sugi only shrugged.

"It's no secret that Momo's shy," Sugi reasoned, and Yuuki opened her mouth to defend me. I put my hand on her hand first, though, and she closed her mouth with a pout. I knew it was true, as did she.

"Does it have anything to do with that Kurama guy?" Sugi went on. "You haven't brought him up today, and last week he was all you wanted to talk about."

The bottom fell out of my stomach. I had told them everything about the encounter with Yusuke, Kurama, and the thugs soon after the incident occurred, hinting that I had a new guy hooked over email and that we were going on a date—or something that could turn into one—during a soon-to-come weekend. They had been happy for me, of course, and had picked out an outfit that was sure to impress, but Sugi had been skeptical.

_It sounds like a scam_, she'd said. _Play knight-in-shining-armor, get the girl's number, seduce her. Perfect setup._

A part of me wondered if she was right, even though I knew she wasn't.

I squeezed Yuuki's hand until she looked into my face, and when I raised my hands to begin signing, her eyes opened wide in recognition. Her pigtails, streaked with blue and pink today, flopped against her cheeks and neck when she nodded for me to start.

"It does have something to do with Kurama," she quoted, eyes in their pits of shadow and liner tracking the motions of my fingers the way a cat tracks a flying bird. "But first, do you remember how I was going to go meet my father's family for the first time yesterday?"

"Um, duh?" said Akko sarcastically. I'd told them all about it at length during the weeks preceding the event, venting my nerves on my wonderful and supportive buddies to an extreme degree. "How did it go? I figured it went badly since you didn't talk about it all day. We didn't want to pry, you know? You hate that."

I sighed again (but thankfully) and I told Yuuki (who told the others): "Oh, it went fine. My uncle and aunt are kind people, and they are eager to become close family." I hesitated, then added: "What's bothering me is this: I had already met one of my cousins without knowing who he was. He didn't know who _I_ was until last night, either."

"Wow," Sugi said, plucked eyebrow peaking. "That's quite the coincidence."

"But why is it bothering you?" Akko asked. "I mean, it's just a coincidence, right?"

Another hesitation made me pause, but then I signed: "It is a coincidence, yes. But being saved from a gang of hoodlums is not how I would have preferred to meet my cousin."

Silence.

"You mean _Kurama_ is your _cousin_?" Akko gasped, putting two and two together in a millisecond. She had been lying down in the shade, relaxing; now she was sitting up at full attention. I could see the histrionics rising in the depths of her liquid black eyes. "Dude, you were going to go on a _date_ with him! And he's your _cousin_? That's so messed up! What in the hell is the world coming to?"

"'We're not related!'" Yuuki said, interpreting my signs, and even as the words left her mouth she looked confused. "What the heck, Momo?" she asked on her own. "You're cousins—of course you're related!"

"He's my uncle's _step_son," I signed. "My aunt is his second wife, and she had Kurama in a previous marriage. So, we're step-cousins. Not related by blood, just marriage." I couldn't help but feel self-conscious when I added: "Our date is still on. Is that weird?"

The girls looked at one another, trying to decide what to tell me.

"It's not _bad_," said Sugi, fighting for words, "but if you hadn't explained it first I would have thought you two were... you know, incestuous." She shuddered. "Gross."

"Not that _you two_ are gross, though," Akko was quick to throw out, and Sugi realized what she had said and nodded vigorously along to alleviate the potential insult. "I mean, you met before you knew about being cousins, and it's not like you're even _really _cousins, so who can blame you for being attracted to a guy you met by chance?"

"What she's _trying_ to say is that you should totally go for him if you like him," Yuuki said, clasping my hands in support. "But remember: if you date and break up, you're still going to have to see him all the time. You can't break up with family."

"I don't even know if I _want_ to date him!" I protested with my hands. When they seemed more confused than ever I clarified: "His name's not even really 'Kurama'. 'Kurama' is a nickname, and when I asked him about it he said that it 'reflected a darker part of his past,' whatever that means, but Yusuke—"

Yuuki stopped translating and caught me by the wrist. "Who?" she asked, not recognizing Yusuke's name.

I gaped at her, realizing a little too late that I had never given a name to the other half of the duo who had saved me.

"Yusuke was the other boy who fended off the bullies," I said, and everyone nodded in recognition. "He called Kurama by the name 'Kurama'."

"So it's a nickname?" Sugi ventured. "Why's that got you in such a miff?"

I heaved yet another sigh. "It _wouldn't_ bother me if he hadn't gotten so defensive about it."

Yuuki: "Defensive?"

I nodded. "I wrote 'Kurama' in my spaghetti noodles. He saw it, did a double take, and served me another portion to cover it up. I've never seen someone serve food so fast in my life!"

"But why would he be ashamed of his name?" Akko wondered with a frown.

Luckily, I had a half-answer. "Kurama told me that his name was from his past," I signed, "but since Yusuke still calls him by that name, doesn't it mean that the 'dark past' isn't in the _past_ at all? He's still living it!" A twinge in my temples signaled the beginnings of a headache. "What if he's a _Yakuza_ or something?"

Throwing up my hands, I made a show of falling onto my side and lying in the fetal position. Yuuki patted my head in sympathy, and then she began to braid a section of my hair between nimble fingers.

"Sounds like he's got something to hide, at the very least," Sugi said dryly. She had secret love of cop shows and mystery novels, and I could tell that the wheels were turning in her head. "But if his name's not Kurama, then what is it?"

I lifted my right hand into the air, but I did not sit up or lift my head when I spelled his name with my fingers. Yuuki squinted at my hand, trying to make the symbols out.

"Mi, na, mi, no, shu, i, chi," she said haltingly, and her eyes un-squinted. "Minamino Shuichi. That's his name?"

I nodded, tucking my face down onto my knees, but I looked up again when Akko spoke in a hushed voice.

"No freaking way," she said, eyes looking both horrified and excited all at once. The bottom fell out of my stomach when I saw that expression. With Akko, it could only mean one thing: hot gossip. "No. Way. You're dating _him_?"

"We're not dating!" I signed.

"What, Akko—you know him?" Sugi asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I might," Akko said. "I know his name at the very least." She looked at me, eyes screaming that she knew much more than just his name. "He went to Meioh, right, but he graduated the year before last?"

I sat up very slowly, staring at her through unblinking eyes.

She went on, gaze locked with mine: "And now he's at Tokyo U.?" she asked, a grin surfacing. "Studying medicine?"

"How," I signed, "do you know about him?"

* * *

The library pressed silently around us, but Akko confidently led the way into its maze of rows and stacks without so much as a pause.

"Since we're affiliated with Meioh, we've got copies of their yearbooks," she said. "And I'm on yearbook so I've studied them to get ideas for our own copies. I know his face, and that name... that's infamous in this school." She plucked a book out of a row, glanced at the spine, and licked her lips. "Here we are. Let's take it to a table."

We crowded around a study table, the type with dividers on all sides to keep a student from getting distracted. Akko sat down and we stood in a flock behind her chair, waiting as she thumbed through the pages. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she glanced through the book's index page, and with a nod she flipped to an appropriate section.

Before us lay the senior portraits, big black-and-whites of boys and girls shown from the chest up in tuxes and high-necked black dresses. The names under them were big and glossy, and underneath those were smaller words that proclaimed things like class rank, clubs joined, and other academic accolades.

The students were organized by last name, of course, so Akko had to find the 'mi' section and go from there.

"Mi-mu, Mi-me, Mi-mo… " Her murmur seemed frail in the library's still air, and she licked her lips again. "Ah. Mi-na. Here we go." She handed the book straight up over her head and right into Sugi's waiting arms. "That him, Momo?"

I leaned across Sugi's chest, blocking her vision so I could look at the book. Sure enough, there Kurama was—he wasn't grinning like the rest of the students, choosing instead to contemplate the cameraman with a small, benevolent smile and an eyebrow that was raised so slightly it hardly seemed raised at all. My lips pursed when I saw his class rank—number one on each and every exam, _ever_—and the long, long list of achievements he'd won during his highschool career. The only conspicuous absence from his list was a mention of sports, but that hardly mattered considering the "Will be attending Tokyo University's medical program on full scholarship" banner lying underneath it all.

And, to add insult to injury, he was _pretty_, even with his brilliant eyes and exotic hair bleach dark grey in the photographs.

Pulling back so Sugi and Yuuki could take an unobstructed look, I gave the twisted-around-in-her-seat-so-she-could-stare-at-me-in-delicious-anticipation Akko a slow, deliberate nod.

"What," Sugi said slowly, "the _hell_, Momo?"

Yuuki merely stared, open-mouthed, as she stood on tiptoe to see over Sugi's arm.

"This is the prettiest guy I've ever _seen_!" she went on, and her face went from shocked to horrified in an instant. "Dear god, can you ask him what _shampoo_ he uses? I've never been able to get my hair to gloss like that!"

"Oh, sure you have," Akko said crossly, and she poked Sugi in the stomach. "And don't you _dare_ go all inferiority-complex on us, you bitch. You're the best looking of us all."

Yuuki snapped out of her ogling and smiled up at Sugi in apology. "She's right!" she chirped, snuggling into the tall girl's side. "You're beautiful!"

"So's _he_!" Sugi said, not comforted in the slightest as she stared at Kurama's portrait. She shrugged Yuuki off and looked at me, totally flabbergasted. "No offense, Momo, I think you're pretty and all, but this guy is, is…" She waved a hand in the air, searching for words, and at last settled on: "_Otherworldly_! This guy is so good looking it's supernatural! He should be dating a _princess_, not one of us!"

I winced. He was indeed beautiful—feminine, perhaps even a little _too_ feminine, but that didn't make his beauty any less apparent. He wasn't a conventional sort of handsome, that's for sure, but I had quite honestly never seen anyone like him before in my life.

"We're cousins, remember?" I signed to Yuuki, who translated. "He _has_ to be nice to me."

Sugi looked up from the book, frowning. "But that doesn't explain why he emailed you _before_ finding out about the cousins thing," she said.

Now_ that_ was something I could make neither head nor tail of.

"We can talk about motives later," Akko said in a harsh whisper. She was trading stares with a librarian, who stood a few feet away with her hands on her hips. Obviously, we were being much too loud. "C'mon, let's jet."

* * *

The bell rang as we left the library, but since we all had homeroom in the same wing we could walk to class together.

"You still haven't explained how you knew who Kurama was," Yuuki chirped as she skipped ahead of the rest of us. "Story time, Akko!"

Akko flipped her hair, smiling a coy little smile. "Oh, you know me. I hear everything in this school."

I rolled my eyes. It was true, of course, and it was typical of her to be so proud of her abilities as a gossip-monger. Good old Akko.

"Cut the shit, Akko," Sugi snapped. She was still, apparently, feeling a little self-conscious, hence her bad mood.

"No need to get snippy," Akko said, scowling, but since she didn't want to piss off Sugi she just launched right into it: "Since this is an all-girls school, girls tend to pick idols from other schools as their objects of affection. Since Meioh is affiliated with us and we see them a few times a year, the boys who go there get picked the most often. Girls trade pictures and send mass love letters and all kinds of crazy stuff; you all know the drill because you've seen it in action." She chuckled a little. "But my sister, well, she went here before we did—at the same time as Kurama, in fact." Akko's face darkened when she threw up her hands in exasperation. "She crushed on him so hard that I heard his name every night over dinner for _three entire years_! She swears that of all the guys who got thrown into the spotlight at this school, he was by far the biggest star."

"I can see why young girls would like Kurama, I suppose," Yuuki said, face screwed up in thought. "He's so fairy-tale-like that girls could idolize him without feeling threatened. Crushing on him would be like crushing on a celebrity—you'll never meet a celebrity, and therefore you'll never get hurt. And since Kurama is so unreal, well, it's basically the same thing."

I signed at her: "He's sensitive about his name. Could I ask you all to refer to him as Minamino-san from now on?"

We were walking through a crowded hall as Yuuki spoke my signed words aloud, and the affect they had on the other students was immediate—two girls stopped dead to stare, and another rushed up, got right in Yuuki's face, and demanded: "Why are we talking about Minamino?"

Yuuki cowered and ducked behind me. The girl followed her, but when she saw how tall I was she backed off, muttering about how many people seemed intent on speaking about her god behind her back…

"People are _still_ obsessed with him, I see," Akko remarked as we watched the fangirl go. "Funny. Maybe my sister is right."

* * *

_NOTES:_

_How will Momo defeat the evil fangirls?_

_Next chapter, we see things from Kurama's POV. I'm thinking I'll switch off every other chapter? What do you think?_

_I don't know much about Japanese yearbooks, but let's just say for the sake of this story that they have senior pictures in tuxes. If anyone knows differently, let me know and I'll change it to fit! I'd like to be authentic if I can. =D _

_Ugh. So. I think the reason I took so long to update this is because it's just, so, SLOW. This fic's plot happens behind the scenes, with most of the focus honing in on the relationship between Momo and Kurama, so… yeah. I need more plot. This fic has a really developed one, too (Momo has to end up in the prologue somehow!) but… urgh. It's just hard to write when it's so slow._

_Anyway, SO SORRY for the delayed update, but I hope you enjoyed getting a deeper peek inside Momo's head. Most of this has been written for a month or more, but I had to flesh it out and for some reason I __just couldn't get around to doing it. FORGIVE ME. (*prostrates self on floor*)_

_Thank you, guys, for sticking around despite how long I've neglected this story. YOU ARE ALL AWESOME and I love you. ^^ Dreamehz, frowninggivesyouwrinkles, Kaiya's Watergarden, AkaMizu-chan, Naitza-Kururugi, Talye Kendrin, Koryu Erlic, strawberry9506, Reclun, heve-chan, chocolateluvr13, WickedLovelyDream, Foxgirl Ray, crossyourteez, the Under-Cover Fangirl, rain chant, Shadow Goddess Miko, American Senpai, Panda-chan31, archangel fighter, dude where's my spirit gun, Wings of Silver Rain, DevilAngelWold27, BiGayStraightWhoCares, Mihakuu, and Miss Ratchet!_


	7. Connections

Speak

Chapter 07:

"Connections"

* * *

When Momo still had not emailed me two days after our first official meeting at our fathers' reunion dinner, I took the initiative and penned her a quick note on the way to my morning classes:

_Dear Momo,_ it read._ I haven't heard from you since Sunday night, and I'm worried—are you, perhaps, angry with me?_

I did not sign it, feeling that any further recourse might anger her further or point metaphorical fingers down metaphorical roads I did not wish to traverse. Still, as I grabbed my jacket and prepared to go downstairs and catch the next train over to my university, I couldn't get her silence—a silence quite unlike her typically genetic one—off my mind.

_She seemed fine when she left Mother's house,_ I thought as I grabbed my book bag and house keys. _All smiles, at least. I'd have known if she was truly angry. I would've smelled it._

I smiled at the thought. One of the advantages of being a demon was that the chemicals that made a human being feel a specific emotion were easy to discern with my nose—fear, happiness, anger, all of them had a distinct scent, and when Momo had left Mother's house she had smelled…

My smile very quickly turned into a frown. How _had_ she smelled, come to think of it? As I exited my building with a nod to the woman behind the desk (a woman, I noted, who stank of boredom) I felt tremulously uneasy, for I could not remember the taste of Momo's emotions at all. Had I been checking for them? I didn't see why I wouldn't have been; I usually tasted the emotions around me as a matter of course…

I felt the phone buzz inside my book bag a second before it rang; I was getting it out and flipping it open by the time it finished ringing once. Very few people would call me so early in the morning—was Mother in trouble? Had something happened?

The caller ID said 'Private'.

Knowing full well what that meant (and not liking it at all), I pressed 'accept' and held the phone up to my ear with a sigh.

"Kurama?" came the sound of Botan's familiar voice. "Kurama, is that you?"

"Yes," I replied. I glanced at my watch and lengthened my stride in response; I was running late—at least, I was running late by my standards. I liked to show up for class a half-hour early, and at this rate I would only be there for fifteen extra minutes.

"Oh goodie, I was worried you'd lost your phone!" she chirped.

"What do you need today, Botan?" I asked gently.

"Oh, it's nothing much, really it's not!" she said, sounding nervous. I didn't need to smell her to know she was about to ask for a favor. "It's just that, well, remember that demon you've been looking for?"

"How could I forget?" I asked. Since we'd failed to capture it on the night I'd met Momo it had been a constant worry festering in the back of my mind.

"Well, Lord Koenma is of the opinion that you won't be able to find it unless you know a little more about the nature of the demon itself!" she said. "He's going to give all of you a thorough debriefing! Isn't that wonderful news?"

My mood soured even further. "Peachy," I muttered. _We might have managed to catch the thing by now had he not kept all information but the demon's class from us!_

Belatedly I realized that I had used Momo's name as a sarcastic form of cursing, and I winced. It was a Freudian slip, to be sure, one that suggested things I did not favor. Was Momo truly weighing that heavily on my—?

"What was that?" Botan asked.

"I was only commenting on the weather, Botan," I covered. _I'll think about Momo later._ "It's a lovely day."

"Why yes it is!" she said. "Now, I was wondering if we could all meet at your apartment to discuss everything."

_There's the favor I expected,_ I thought, and said: "Of course. When?"

"Tonight!"

I thought about it. "My schedule is clear," I told her. "What time?"

"Seven!"

_Such a prompt response,_ I thought. "I'll be home by then," I said, and by that time I had reached the doors of the train station. "I have to go, Botan—will you tell the others when to meet?"

"Already did!" she gushed, and then her tone went sheepish. "Oh, um, I mean…"

I merely laughed, and hung up.

* * *

My thoughts wandered during my morning biology lecture, running between the impending meeting with Yusuke and the others and thoughts of Momo's uncharacteristic lack of contact. I kicked myself more than once when her face—dark eyes and full lips and all—popped unbidden into my head, smiling kindly as if sharing a private joke I wasn't allowed to hear. It wasn't like me to become distracted like that, and by the time my classes ended for the day and I went back to my apartment at a quarter past six in the evening, I was more than ready to check my email to satisfy my urge to (potentially) hear from her.

_After all,_ I told myself as I took off my coat, went to my computer, and logged into my email, _it would not be beneficial to the productivity of the meeting if I went into it distracted. _

_Or, _thought another part of me, _is that just an excuse for indulging? Perhaps it would be best if I didn't talk to her at all, and maybe it's best if she doesn't reply to—_

It was too late for second thoughts, however, because just then the page finished loading. Momo had indeed given me an answer.

_'Sorry, sorry!'_ she'd written alongside a pleading text face. Typos let me know the email had been composed in haste. '_I've been agonizing over a message to you since we saw each other but I couldn't figure out what to say! Everything came out sounding stupid, or just plain mean, and I finally got it written to a place where I think it's OK, but..._'

'_Just so you know: I'm not angry with you. You didn't do anything wrong, other than be part of a huge coincidence outside your control. I was just a little freaked out, is all, so I'm sorry I took so long to talk to you.'_

_'Anyway. Would you mind if I just copied and pasted the email I've been working on? It might seem really random and whatnot, but it has everything I want to say in it and I don't know how else to bring up all my points. So here it is:'_

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, pushing away from the computer to compose myself. What I'd read so far seemed positive enough—it contained no declarations of never wanting to see me again, at least—but would the rest of the email prove to be as optimistic?

There was only one way to find out, now wasn't there? My eyes snapped open and read the first line in a rush:

'_I want to be the first to say 'hello, cousin!''_

Relief made my shoulders relax a little.

'_I also want to be the first to say that I'm confused by you_, she went on_, but that I'm not going to pressure you into telling me things you don't want to talk about.'_

More relief made my shoulders slump further; my mouth parted in mild surprise. What she was saying was more that I had ever hoped…

'_I can understand what it's like to have secrets you don't want people to know about, _she wrote_. Really, more than anyone, I know what it's like to have secrets. But we're family now, so if you do ever need to get that 'dark past' of yours off your chest, I promise I won't interrupt your monologue (ha ha, that was a joke).'_

I smiled, then grimaced at what I read next.

'_It sounds sappy and weird and way too familiar, I know, but you can trust me.'_

'_Can I trust you?'_

"No, Momo," I murmured. "No, you can't."

Not being privy to my thoughts, she assumed the answer was a 'yes' and went on her merry way:_ 'The only thing I ask in return is that you treat my (and now, _your_) family matters with delicacy. Somehow I suspect that you already knew to do that, but still, I had never met my father's side of the family before last night and the weirdness with you wasn't something I wanted to deal with.'_

'_It's fine now, of course_,' (Was it really? I had to wonder) '_and it wasn't your fault at all so please, PLEASE don't apologize or anything ridiculous like that, but still—let's just get all the confusion and details out of the way in these emails, OK? Compartmentalization is a good thing.'_

'_Bottom line is this: Before we have an awkward moment in front of our parents/aunts/uncles/siblings/cousins, let's be transparent. If you want to know anything about my family, or if you want me to know anything about yours, just ask or come out and tell me.'_

'_Can I have the same privilege?'_

It hurt too much to deny her aloud, so I kept my lips pressed shut. Her tone in the next part of the email went back to being faultlessly chipper.

'_Anyway: after sleeping on the matter, I have come to the decision that I will, as far as these emails go, continue to refer to you as Kurama because that's what I've been calling you in my head and switching is a pain. To protect your privacy I'll start calling you Shuichi-san when in public. If you take issue with this, too bad—I mean, let me know so I can think about changing. Ha ha. That was another joke.'_

I didn't laugh that time.

'_In all seriousness, tell me what you want me to call you. In front of Aunt Shiori and your step-family you're Shuichi, of course, but I think I should mention that my mother knows that you're both Kurama _and_ Minamino Shuichi.'_

To say that my blood ran cold would be an understatement of the highest order. My hand clenched so hard that the computer mouse cracked along one side in sharp protest.

'_Dad doesn't know,' _she went on_, 'but my closest friends (three of them, Sugi, Akko, and Yuuki) also know both your names.'_

The mouse, nigh on the verge of shattering, ground against my palm, drawing blood from a wound that healed too fast for human eyes to follow.

Momo had… told people? Why had she done that?

She quickly gave me a reason:_ 'I told Mom and my friends about you-as-Kurama saving me from those thugs before I knew you were my-cousin-Shuichi, and I told them what you looked like because, let's just face this now, you're attractive and I wanted to brag. _

My eyebrows rose, hand loosening on the mouse a touch. That seemed innocent enough…

_Then when I found out you were my cousin, but with a different name, well, I figured that since your looks are pretty unique, they'd put two-and-two together by wondering how I could meet two people who look just like you in the span of two weeks. So, yeah—your names probably couldn't be kept a secret if you ever met Mom or my friends (which I hope you'll do at some point) because they all know what you look like. And this might be a little creepy, but one of my best friends, Akko… well, her sister went to Meioh and had a total crush on you, and because of this Akko knew your face from yearbook pictures. If I ever called you 'Kurama' in front of her, she'd ask questions._

I drew in a breath. Her points made sense; there would be no way for her to cover my names when her friends knew both stories as well as my face…

'_I am really, REALLY sorry they know, _she continued,_ especially when you seem so wary of letting people hear that nickname, and I promise that I wasn't trying to hurt you by telling. But want to give you some reassurance, if I can, and it's that I'd trust my mother and all of my friends with my LIFE. I told them to call you "Minamino-san" from now on and that "Kurama" was a nickname you barely ever used, so you don't have to worry about them. I promise you that much, on my life, OK?'_

A part of me still blamed her, promises of secrecy or no promises, but her sincerity certainly was endearing…

'_I'm sorry for dumping so much random crap on you_,' she wrote. '_I just don't want to drag this out. Like it or not, we're stuck together. I know that sounds negative, but it's not supposed to be. The sooner we get the craziness out of the way, the sooner we can go back to being fun, relaxed email-pals—or whatever it is we are, because at this point I'm a little unsure.'_

'_After all, I still haven't been able to take you out for that meal I owe you.'_

She did not sign her name, and I stared at the last line for a long time. Despite my misgivings and her ironically big mouth (because for a mute she had managed to tell a large number of people of my names in a relatively small amount of time), I felt a modicum of…

_What is this?_ My hand on the mouse went totally slack, plastic groaning in relief. _Why do I feel so… satisfied?_

_This is not good_, I thought darkly._ Not good at all._ I was _satisfied_ that Momo wasn't going to pry into my personal life (when I should be angry by all rights), I was _satisfied_ that she wasn't going to tell me to never come near her again (when I should probably be distancing myself with or without her consent)… I _wasn't_ satisfied that she had spread my secret name around (but I _did_ appreciate the fact that she had come clean about all of it—she had all the bases covered, was willing to deal with this like an adult, she was—)—

_I shouldn't be this calm,_ I realized uneasily. _This incident constitutes a major threat to the safety of my secrets. I should—_

The doorbell rang. I froze, startled, before looking at the clock on my computer. It was only 6:30, but nevertheless I got up and opened the door to find Yusuke standing outside with his hands shoved in his pockets. From his elbow hung a large plastic sack, which he glanced at before grinning at me.

"Brought us some ramen," he said, and I stepped back so he could come inside.

"You're early."

"I only brought enough for us," Yusuke said. He walked to the middle of the living room and sat down on the couch, placing the ramen on the glass coffee table so he could unpack it for us both. I joined him by the table, sitting on the easy chair before Yusuke pushed my portion toward me.

We cracked chopsticks and tucked in, Yusuke slurping noisily while I thought about Momo's email. Her question about what we were, cousins or friends or any manner of relationship, had me puzzled, and even more importantly than that was the question of my lack of pronounced reaction to the obvious problem she presented. I had tensed when I read that some of her friends knew my names, of course, but now I was happily sitting down with Yusuke…

"What's eating you, man?"

I offered Yusuke a small smile of apology. "Just some family matters," I hedged. "It's nothing, really."

He snorted. "With you, 'nothing' is always code for 'something', so spill it. What's up?"

I hesitated.

"Oh come on," he said, tossing his head. "It can't be as bad as some of your Yoko stories."

My smile came stiffly. "Of course not," I said, and I reluctantly revealed to him the basics: that the mute girl we had rescued had been emailing me back and forth for two weeks, and that we had learned we were cousins through marriage only a few days earlier. I also added a summary of her last email, including how she had resolved not to pry into my secrets and that I could come to her whenever I felt like it. I left out my inner turmoil, not deigning to mention how my brain screamed at me to worry but my emotions steadfastly clung to relief, and I also left out how she had revealed my names to her friends.

"We had been planning on an outing sometime soon," I said when I finished summarizing. "Now, however, I do not think such an outing would be prudent—"

"What, you mean like a date?" Yusuke asked, and he smacked me across the back with a grin. "Dude, great job!"

"It's not a date, Yusuke," I admonished, but he just shrugged.

"Hey, I call it like I see it," he said. "Exchanging emails, getting to know each other, going out in your spare time—sounds like a date-thing to me."

"And the fact that we're cousins doesn't bother you?" I asked, keeping the discussion on a surface level. Perhaps I was avoiding the real problem; perhaps I just didn't want to worry Yusuke.

I didn't really want to know, if truth had to be told.

Yusuke leaned back and put his arms behind his head. "It's just through marriage, right?" he asked slowly.

"Correct."

"Then it's fine—you're not, y'know, icky." He breathed a relaxed sigh. "Kurama with a girlfriend. Wow."

My lips twitched. "Momo is not my girlfriend."

"But she will be."

"Not necessarily," I said logically. "If we were to date and if we were to break it off, family gatherings would be tense."

Yusuke didn't see it the way I did. "So?" he asked. "Talk it out and it'll be fine."

"It's not that simple. Her association with me could cause her trouble."

"What, you mean Yomi would wanna use her against you or something?" Yusuke asked. Liquid brown eyes narrowed. "I thought he was done trying to revruit you, after the latest tournament. We're all our own men, now."

I didn't look at Yusuke when I said: "Yomi will never be done with me, I'm afraid. He is… tenacious."

Yusuke snorted. "Wow. Obsessed, much?"

"Something like that." After a moment I met Yusuke's eyes full on, diving past the petty and into the serious. "What's worse is that Momo knows of my dual identities," I told him softly. "My two names, anyway."

Yusuke blinked, tensing. "You mean, she knows you're Kurama _and_ Shuichi?" he asked.

"Correct." I stirred the dregs of my noodles with my chopsticks. "She does not know the significance of or the reasons behind my adoption of two names, but the fact that she knows of them both is of concern."

"Why don't you just wipe her mind the way you did that Maya chick and start things fresh?"

My lips thinned as I stared into my noodles; I did not like to be reminded of Maya. I had told him of Maya during the Demon World tournament, when he had attempted to set me up on a date and I had had no interest in humoring him.

Yusuke and I shared many things—after the incident with the Forlorn Hope and the grief associated with it, how could we not have become close? Few people understood sacrifice (especially sacrifice concerning mothers) the way we did, and like gravitates to like, making our friendship a natural thing. I was grateful to him, really. He was the closest thing to a human friend I had ever had…

_Well, not entirely human_, I thought._ Yusuke is a Mazoku, after all. His humanity lingers but will diminish with time, whereas Momo—_

_Momo… she will be human forever._

I jumped when something buzzed around my face. "Earth to Kurama?" Yusuke said, waving a hand in front of my eyes in an effort to shock me out of my train of thought. I blinked a few times before grimacing.

"I'm sorry. I was thinking about…" I grimaced again. "Pressing on. Momo told her mother and her friends of my two names." Yusuke drew in a sharp breath. "She did so before I could tell her not to, so I am trying not to blame her for this, but yes, her actions do indeed compound matters."

"So… memory erasing for the friends, too?"

I shook my head from side to side. "If I were to wipe Momo's mind," I began, "it would mean I would have to wipe _all_ of their minds so there would be no inconsistencies in memory."

"OK…"

"Likewise," I went on, "if the people Momo confided in told even _more_ people, I would have to find them as well as modify their minds." I glanced up at Yusuke. "That would take investigation I do not have the time to do. Additionally, I happen to be low on dreamflower pollen at the moment, and—what are you looking at me like that for, Yusuke?"

For some reason, Yusuke's eyes had gone from tense to confused to … amused, during the course of my speech. I could see no reason for this and raised an eyebrow at his twitching mouth and reddened cheeks, but he just smacked a hand onto his knee and laughed out loud, grinning and guffawing like a loon. I watched the proceedings without cracking a smile, patient but stern and waiting for my friend to come around.

"Wow, Kurama," he said when he stopped chuckling. He wiped a tear from his eye. "Just… wow. Any _more_ reasons for not wiping all their minds?"

I frowned. "In fact, yes," I said, and I rushed for another reason so Yusuke would stop looking at me like I didn't know what I was doing. "Minds with missing memories tend to fill in the gaps with all manner of unpredictable falsehoods. If Momo's new memories contradicted, for instance, her mother's or her friends'—"

Yusuke had begun to grin. "You _want_ her to know," he said like it was obvious, stunning me. "Kurama, you _want_ this girl to know your names. Just admit it!"

I went silent. The humor in Yusuke's eyes turned to crossness when I made no move to respond.

"Oh come clean, Kurama," he griped. "You don't want to have to keep secrets from her."

"I have no idea what you mean," I said carefully.

"Sure you do," he said. "You're coming up with all sorts of excuses—"

"—all of which are completely valid!"

"—just to keep her knowing your names," he finished, crossing his arms over his chest. "Face it. You've never had a human friend before in your life and you have one now, one who's totally OK with you having secrets, and you want to keep it simple. Now I can call you Kurama and she won't bat an eye, but she won't ask too many questions, either. It's the perfect setup."

He scowled and grabbed our empty bowls of noodles, standing so he could turn toward the kitchen.

"I wish Keiko'd act the same way, but she won't," he grumbled more to himself than to me. "She never stops riding me for information on Demon World stuff, even when I tell her I don't want to talk about it. Momo, her attitude must be nice."

"I suppose," I said, not clarifying just as to what I was agreeing with. I hardly even knew myself.

Yusuke rolled his eyes. "You want my advice?"

"I suppose," I repeated.

"Just be yourself and be honest." He held up a hand before I could protest. "I know I sound like a therapist and bullshit, but shut up and lemme finish. Don't tell Momo everything because that would just be stupid. Just say that 'Kurama' is a nickname because you were in a gang or something, because that's mostly true and I'll back you up on it if you need me to."

"That scenario is more or less what I implied, actually," I said, and I smiled for what felt like the first time in years. "Thank you for playing along, Yusuke."

"Sure." He licked his lips. "Other than that, just act the way you normally do. Leave out demons and shit and focus on being human, for once. You've never had much of a chance to do that."

It was true. I'd never been much of a human, never had friends my human age, never…

A realization struck anew. Was I satisfied with Momo… because Yusuke was right? Was I really so starved for human contact that I was willing to take such massive risks just to keep Momo interested in being my…

_Friend, girlfriend, cousin… she's right, I _don't_ know what role I want her to fill,_ I thought sourly._ I hate not knowing. It's not in my nature._

"Although," Yusuke was saying as he looked me up and down with a critical eye, "those slacks you seem to like so much, they're kinda… old-fogey. Maybe get a pair of jeans or two?"

I suppressed a glare. Yusuke grinned.

"Hey, you've never dated a teenage girl before!" he teased. "Keiko took one look at my wardrobe when I got back from Demon World and nearly blew a—"

"Yoo-hoo!"

We both jumped. The door all but shook in its frame as Botan pounded on it, repeatedly signaling her presence with joyous 'yoo hoo's and a babble of 'I'm here's and all manner of similarly Botan-typical phrases. Yusuke looked at the ramen bowls in his hand and became quite frightened indeed, for which a small part of me felt vindicated for his fashion comment.

"Aw man, I gotta hide these or Botan'll be pissed I didn't bring enough for her!" he yelped, and he bolted for the kitchen.

I went for the computer and shut off the monitor, taking my time so Yusuke could hide the evidence of our pre-meeting meal from Botan's eagle gaze. She skipped in the door when I opened it, marveling at my apartment with wide magenta eyes in a way that suggested she hadn't been inside it before, which she _had_ a hair shy of a dozen times.

"She never gets tired of seeing our houses," Kuwabara grumbled when he followed her inside. He was dressed in jeans and a jacket, looking peeved but glad to see me. "How've ya been, man?"

"Fine, as ever," I said, which was somewhat true. Speaking with Yusuke had calmed me. He usually had that affect.

"So austere!" Botan was chirping as she spun in circles in the living room. "A couch, a chair, a table, and a desk! You need to put some art on the walls, Kurama, the blank eggshell paint is just—"

"Will Hiei be joining us tonight, Botan?" I asked to stop her from drawing up a redecorating plan I could not extricate myself from.

"Oh, I don't think so," she said as she moved to the coffee table. She was carrying a briefcase marked with the seal of Spirit World, and when she opened it I saw that the inside of the lid had an LCD screen attached. "He was on loan from Mukuro when he helped with the mission earlier, and since we've hit a standstill Koenma had no excuse for requesting his continued presence in Human World."

"Not that the shrimp even wanted to help in the first place," Kuwabara muttered.

"He will come if we need him, Kuwabara," I said. "Hiei is our friend."

"Cheh," Kuwabara said, rolling his eyes. "Sure he is. What friend doesn't insult your face when you see him for the first time in more than a year?"

_He only insults you because he's defensive of Yukina; forgive him,_ I thought, but I all I said was: "Now, now…"

"Whoa, Koenma's gonna talk to us face to face?" Yusuke said as he came out of the kitchen, eyes on the briefcase's screen. He grinned at me before exchanging back-pounds with Kuwabara. "Hey buddy, how's college treatin' ya? Gotten kicked out yet?"

"You're just jealous 'cause _I'm_ actually _going_," Kuwabara said loftily, and Yusuke smacked him on the head with a friendly growl. Before a good-natured brawl could break out, Botan's voice caught them and held them still.

"Yes, Koenma is going to be speaking to all of us directly," she said in belated answer to Yusuke's question. She toyed with the controls below the suitcase-screen for a second, and then it lit up with a 'pop' to show Koenma's seal bouncing around like a screensaver. She stood with a grin and held out her hands in a 'ta-dah!' gesture.

"Gather round, everyone!" she burbled, grinning so hard her eyes squeezed shut. "Lord Koenma will be here shortly!"

Kuwabara and Yusuke tussled for the couch, each vying for a better position in front of the screen. With a sigh I grabbed the case and carried it to my computer desk, setting it so we could all see from any point in the room. Yusuke and Kuwabara looked appropriately foolish, sulking, before Botan jumped over the back of the couch and settled in between them with a giggle. I took the chair, resting my elbows on my knees so I could lace my fingers together and press my lips against them.

Soon enough the suitcase's screen flicked black, and then colors swirled and formed the childish face of Koenma, ruler of the Spirit World. He was much too close to the camera, face warped and twisted until he leaned back into his chair and flipped us all a peace sign.

"Yo!" he said around his customary pacifier, voice scratchy when it came through the case's tinny speakers. "Good to see you, Kuwabara, Kurama, Yusuke. I trust my assistant didn't give you any trouble?"

"No more than the usual, baby breath," Yusuke said casually. Botan pouted; Koenma's eyebrow twitched. "Now why don't we get to the point? I'm skipping work to be here!"

"I am well aware I am asking a favor of you all, Yusuke," Koenma said, flipping through a sheaf of papers without looking at us. "No need to rub it in."

"Yeah yeah, just tell us what you _should_ have told us when we first heard of this case!" Yusuke said, eyes rolling.

"I second that," Kuwabara said. "But Yusuke, calm down, OK? I'm sure Koenma kept stuff from us for a good reason." He looked at the screen for confirmation. "Right?"

I gave Kuwabara a sidelong look. His blocky face was poised and earnest, serious and tense beneath a skein of calm composure. He had grown into himself during his college years, hard work and studies having mellowed his once-spastic mannerisms. His earlier joking with Yusuke proved that he was still the same old Kuwabara, but now…

_You've become more reliable, my friend, _I thought with a smile, remembering training him before the Dark Tournament. _Back then you complained and moaned at the slightest provocation, but now…_

Koenma, on the screen, seemed calmed by Kuwabara's understanding tone of voice. "Since none of you are technically under Spirit World employ, regulations did not permit me to reveal much by way of information," he said. "Over the past two weeks I've been working round the clock to gain more leeway, and thankfully I managed to get you all low-level clearance."

"Wait, you're ruler of the Spirit World now that your dad isn't in charge!" Yusuke said in protest. "Why couldn't you just—"

"Koenma-san is a much more honest ruler than his father!" Botan chimed in, rounding on Yusuke with a determined frown. "King Yama consistently broke the rules, but Koenma is doing everything by the book, just like a good ruler should!"

"Sheesh!" Yusuke muttered, slouching down into himself. "Sorry I asked…"

"Back to the topic at hand?" I said lightly, and everyone turned to Koenma again.

"Thank you, Kurama," the child-ruler said. He laced his fingers together and rested them on the desk in front of him, craning his head to look more lofty and in control. "Now, as you all know, there is a demon living in Human World."

Yusuke pointed at me innocently. I smirked when Botan stepped on his foot.

"No, not Kurama," Koenma snapped. "As I told you before, there is a demon living in Human World, one that can successfully masquerade as a human. Energy concealment, physical changes… it can look like anyone, though we have reason to believe it sticks to a small set of identities."

"And I suppose you'll tell us who those identities are?" I asked.

Koenma, however, just looked guilty. "Unfortunately, we don't exactly, um, know what they are," he said, rubbing the back of his neck in consternation. "We've never been able to catch sight of it while it's in a human form."

"What does it look like in its demon form?"

Koenma grumbled something, and then the screen split down the middle. On one side sat Koenma, but on the other…

"Kinda grainy," Yusuke said, squinting at the film of a tall, slender, bipedal creature as it walked down a hallway, keeping to shadows and darting through patches of light. The black-and-white footage did little to reveal the demon's coloring, but it seemed to be coated in scales that shone with subtle iridescence. From its forehead curled two horns not unlike a ram's; large oval eyes reflected fear, fear I didn't understand given the massive talons curling from its four-toed feet and five-fingered hands. A reptilian tail swept across the floor in the creature's wake. Though the footage only lasted for five or so seconds, it played in an endless loop that showed us how the demon seemed to glide along the floor despite the shackles binding its double jointed, raptor-like legs together at the ankle.

"This is the demon," Koenma said. "His name is Hide. Twenty years ago we managed to apprehend him, but he escaped our custody and fled into the Human World."

"Why was he in jail in the first place?" Kuwabara asked.

The resulting pause was a long one, the image of Hide sneaking down a hallway repeating over and over again. Koenma suckled quickly on his pacifier, and despite the pixilation of his face on the small screen I saw a bead of sweat trickle down his temple. Eventually he spoke, eyes boring into us to drive home the gravity of his words.

"The demon Hide," he said, "killed a human child. Her name was Kusagawa Arata. She was seven years old."

Silence. Then everyone began to speak at once.

"We gotta find it," Yusuke growled. "I'm not letting a child-killer loose in _my_ city, no way no how!"

"Shouldn't we be guarding, you know, the relatives of the kid?" Kuwabara was saying in a panic. "Her family could be in danger!"

"How awful!" were Botan's words, spoken through suddenly-misty eyes. "I knew the demon had done something bad, but I never—"

"Hey, hey!" Koenma said, hands slamming onto his desk. We all fell quiet. "Can you all just pipe down and listen to me for once?"

"What's there to listen to?" Yusuke said, shooting to his feet. He marched over to the screen and leaned down to shove his face up close to it, agitated beyond all reason. "It killed a little kid!"

"It was an accident!" Koenma protested. "It—"

"Well if it was an accident, why the hell is it so important we catch this thing?" Kuwabara joined in. He moved to push his face close to the screen as well.

"Just sit down and listen and I might tell you!" Koenma shouted.

After a few more shouts, Kuwabara and Yusuke finally got their emotions under control. Botan took their hands into her lap, clutching at them in a manner meant to comfort. Both took this indignity with grace and grumbling.

"Now, then," said Koenma. The image of the creeping demon faded away. "As I was _trying_ to tell you, the demon fled from a jail in Spirit World, entered Human World, and accidentally killed a child. Then he vanished. He reappeared twenty years later—AKA, now—and we want to find him and bring him in."

His words were clipped, rehearsed… deceiving.

_Oh Koenma,_ I thought sourly. _You should know better than to lie to a fox_. So I said: "You still haven't told us why he was originally in jail."

Koenma's face darkened. "I'm afraid," he said, "that I can't tell you that."

Yusuke growled: "Then how are we supposed to—"

"Yusuke."

The young man froze at the sound of Koenma's voice, a voice that had suddenly gone quite deadly indeed. The toddler king had pinned us all with a glare, but the glare didn't so much demand understanding as it did beg for it.

"I can't tell you why at the moment," he said, "but for the past twenty years, finding Hide has not been a top priority for Spirit World—in fact, we've viewed him as mostly harmless despite his record. So far as we can tell, he stopped hurting people after that first slip-up."

"So why is so important we catch him now?" Kuwabara asked. "Why this year, why _today_?"

"Hide isn't your true goal, is he?" I said in a low voice.

Heads swiveled in my direction, but Koenma just looked guilty. That look affirmed everything my racing mind had conjured up.

"If you look at it logically," I murmured, "Koenma was not concerned with finding Hide until recently, despite the fact that Hide was allowed to roam free for twenty years. That means something somewhere _else_ has changed, making Hide's importance grow." I smiled at Botan, Kuwabara, and Yusuke, who were all listening with dark attention. "This Hide character, he is not the true objective. He must be the means to getting at something much bigger; something Koenma is reluctant to tell us about." I did not allow any warmth into my eyes when I turned Koenma's way. "Isn't that right, Koenma?" I asked. "You want us to find this demon in order to further your own hidden agenda?"

The prince's face screwed up in annoyance. "You were always too sharp for your own good, Kurama," he said through clenched teeth. "But yes—you're right. Finding Hide is the first step to solving an even bigger mystery, one I can't divulge right now, but trust me when I say that finding Hide is—"

"…of utmost importance?" Yusuke guessed, words chiming in unison with Koenma's. The ex-spirit detective rolled his eyes when Koenma went red across the face, and then he turned a lazy smile in my direction.

"You know, Kurama," he said, brown eyes glittering with anger, amusement, and déjà vu, "I feel like I've heard this story a dozen times before."

"I am inclined to agree," I murmured back, and scowled.

* * *

NOTES:

_Next chapter: Momo gets a response to her email, plans are made, ruined, and remade, and a piece of Koenma's puzzle falls into place._

_I had major struggle-issues with this chapter, mostly because it deals with Kurama's emotions on a deep level and those are slippery things indeed. At first he just read Momo's email and accepted it, which I realized was NOT what he'd do because he'd analyze it and I needed to show him doing so. He's hard to characterize!_

_I've always thought Yusuke and Kurama would be really close after what they went through together in the Artifacts arc. I'm hoping to play that up in this story._

_Who is this demon (name pronounced Hee-day, but the word 'hide' is kind of a pun considering his abilities) and what bigger role will he play in events as of yet unseen? What's going on that Koenma isn't telling the others? Will they catch the demon, or will they not even be able to find it?_

_Also, yeah, we see the final incarnation of the email Momo tried to type in the last chapter. Emails will probably pop up a lot in upcoming chapters since, you know, Momo's not the best conversationalist…_

_And YOU! Yes, you there! The one reading this! YOU'RE AWESOME! AND DON'T YOU DARE FORGET IT, EITHER! Panda-chan31, Kuro Neko to Kura Bara, LadyxAbsinthe, Amber DreamStone, Kajihenge Yoko, strawberry9506, Misuzu-PM, Koryu Elric, angel-hime96, DevilAngelWOlf27, Tally Youngblood, Kaiya's Watergarden, unknown player, itsallaboutbob, sicklemoon13, AmoreVampiresv-v, Mihakuu, chocolateluvr13, Reclun, Bi Gay Straight Who Cares, Foxgirl Ray, Angel of Randomosity, -individuality-has-a-name-me-, DaAmazingMeepers, heve-chan, Slimjim314yo!_


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